Elvis Christ's origins are unclear, but his whereabouts are easily fleshed out. Keep your eyes to the ground as you stroll down Grant Avenue in North Beach: The words written in Magic Marker and Sharpie on strips of masking tape — such gems as "Huck Finn was a Humboldt-Bud Puffin Sumbitch" and several dozen more epitaphs, epithets, and epics covering the same street corner in wacked-out fringe verve and street wit — are the handiwork of the neighborhood's only living street poet. As in, he writes his poetry on the street. And he's alive. Track him down and make his acquaintance. A few bummed cigarettes or a dollar or two for a drink can endear Elvis to your generous soul for a minute or two, but should you be worthy of his ire, your reputation and name will be skewered on the street. As in literally.