 And now we'll hear from the wonderful Lagnetta Falk. Thank you, Jack. I just echoed what he said. We had an incredible time. I had to read two San Francisco poems, one very, very, very short and one not so long. So the very, very short one first is called The Colour of Khaki. I want to live in the blue house next to the church, he cries out, from the bench in the park, homeless down to his socks. So do I, I think, peering over the dark edge of his life. We all want to live in that house. Overhead a seagull cackles, loneliness is a colour of khaki. This poem I read not so long ago and I thought it was most fitting for this event and I think poems can be read many times. It's called The Ellis Act Blues. She was under the cover when the letter arrived. Her mother, three days dead. The letter of eviction. The landlord, her godfather. She 30-something and her entire childhood in that apartment. A year later, the inevitable. Two days to go to final eviction and 40 years of her parents' life still untouched. A kitchen full of cookware, books, photos, toys, clothes and paintings and she paralyzed with fear no longer caring what will happen to it all. Just wanting to get on that plane, that one way ticket out and no return. Leaving this city a little less quirky, a little less diverse. And so many with her, torn out of their warm beds like Gumji Lee and her husband Poon Hung Lee and their 48-year-old handicapped daughter who were forced to put their entire life in storage while Callus Greed Charlie stood panting at the door with insatiable eyes almost pissing himself with delight at constructing yet another condominium for Google Glass Tom and Techno Make. Oh, golden nugget of a city, basking in the glory of your rich palette of people and multifarious cultures, your quaintness, your tolerance of other, your aspiration to freedom and choice. Don't side by yourself out. Breathe in, breathe deep before you tear yourself apart. Yes.