This one circles the ‘90s in San Francisco, when the ground felt loose and everything seemed briefly possible. Wayne and Greg move through the early dot-com years, back when the job market felt strangely overripe, like it might split open on its own. Companies appeared fully funded and half-formed, stocked with free beer and vague intent, then vanished 18 months later, leaving behind dead stock options and stories that don’t quite cohere.

There’s talk of the texture of the time. Mouse balls gumming up. Offices that didn’t feel like offices. A kind of corporate nudity, equal parts liberation and farce. The City filling with arrivals, each carrying their own version of what San Francisco might be. Weird art scenes brushing up against startup culture. Burning Man before it calcified into something else.

Somewhere in there, a small mystery. Herb Caen. A missing letter. The kind of detail that shouldn’t matter but refuses to disappear. It’s less a history than a pursuit. Half-remembered fragments, chased down alleyways that may or may not still exist. A couple of people trying to get their arms around a moment that was already slipping away while they were living it.

If you were there, it might feel familiar. If you weren’t, it might feel like something you almost remember anyway.