Monday, May 23, 2011

:::From the Drafts Folder -- Oh, the Neighborhood (10/6/10):::

I live across the street from a housing project. Of all things, it is mostly loud. Right now it's 9:48 at night and someone is playing music so loudly that I can hear it clearly even in my bathroom.
When the weather is warm children play in the concrete courtyard. They are playing right now. There are people gathered in a circle of plastic chairs talking. At one house people are sitting out on their porch. I like that.

There is always laundry out on the line, even when it's raining. Even in the winter. Even when it's snowing. Bless.

When I walk to work in the morning I broken bottle, three used you-know-whats, and one large group of teenagers smoking not-cigarettes.

Their is a precinct, an emergency vehicle repair garage, and a homicide unit a block or so down the street. We've got a lot of cars with those fancy European sounding sirens, so, ooh-la-la.

The police end up across the street a lot, sometimes just driving through the neighborhood, sometimes to stop and talk to people, and sometimes they go into houses for who knows what purpose. I've never seen anyone be arrested. Wait...yes I have. All in all though, I think the police mostly deal with domestic issues. Sometimes the police act as family counselors.

The paramedics and fire department show up frequently as well. Many, many times the paramedics and firemen act as doctors.

There is an ice cream truck that shows multiple times throughout the evening. The driver rings what sounds like an old fashioned school bell loudly and without pause. When I was in high school the bell would always give me a heart attack if I was standing underneath it. I have the same reaction now.

His primary customers are adults. From what I can tell, I mean, my binoculars aren't that powerful, people don't leave his window with much. Actually, more often than not, when people step away from the window their hands are jammed deep into their pockets.

I hope we're on the same page as far as subtle hinting goes.

On the Sunday of General Conference I missed the end of President Monson's final address because there was a huge fight going on over there between four women. I think some people just like to fight. One group was in a fire red Jeep Grand Cherokee, and they kept getting in and out of the car to yell at the women who kept coming in and out of the house. It never got violent. The police didn't come.

Am I safe? Yes. I'm safe because I know what I should and shouldn't do. I'm safe because more than anything, this ghetto is mostly crazy ghetto, and not so much violent ghetto. Big difference.

I really wish they'd turn that music off...


Jill said...

This reminds me of a poetic short story, very cool.

michelle said...

Really? An ice cream truck?