Silicon Valley’s pheromones of invention

Stowe says: Through the Eyes of Out-Of-Towners

There is a sensual element to the hothouse atmosphere of today’s Bay Area, an almost narcotic scent that invisibly infiltrates every party and reception, the pheromones of invention, that desire to create that’s almost a tug in the genitals. And of course, there is still the foundational lust — real lust — underneath it all, too.

The out-of-towners fly in, get drunk on this buzzy, fizzy, heady mix, and they never feel right when they return to Cody Wyoming or Australia; they can’t wash the mouthfeel of San Francisco out of their heads when they return to Berlin or Boston. It’s like a tattered postcard of hootchie dancers, smuggled home, kept under a sweaty pillow, and they can’t shake off the sense of missing something, something very hot, pressing and immediate, like getting caught in traffic en route to what you bet was going to be the best date of your life.

I admit I took a sip from the devil’s cup, too.

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