Behind you rises the glittering glass of a world-class medical center and its attendant new neighborhood. To your side are the rotting pilings of a long-forgotten pier, reminders of a working waterfront left to melt into the mud. But there you are out in the bay, on a tiny wooden fishing platform, waiting for something to bite. Through the ever-thicker haze of civilization, past the mothballed working ships and silent cranes, if you squint you can barely make out the East Bay as you wait for something to bite. Would you eat it if you did — or would you cast it back, happy just to tell the story? You'll have a while to think about it.