when i got up this morn to the sound of a homeless man crunching cans in front of my window {we’re on the bottom level and hear everything}, i realized we had no fresh milk after drinking a bit and a violent gagging. i went to the corner store in hugh’s sweatshirt, oversized yoga pants and dark circles of mascara that i forgot to wipe off, and nevertheless got whistled at by the man hanging out at the taco stand. 2 blocks over mind you is an all male playground {where they do sell some nice dumpster dives} where you’re sure to get whistled & hooted at, provided you’re without a man. because my skinny artist boyfriend is certainly threatening! no offense, hugh.
then the screaming children who are across the street inevitabily drop their ball from their playground, which is serenly raised above a parking garage.
THROW US THE BALL! THROw US THE BALLL! Throw US THE BALLLLLLLL!!!!
they yell this nearly every single time i leave the house. it’s comical b/c i can never throw/kick it up {but try 10 times} and usually some little 8 year old has to meet me around the corner after getting a teacher’s permission for his tethered kickball. then there are the sweet raw food couple who are always holding hands and own “cafe gratitude” on the corner and pass me in their electric buggy. once they drove me and my load of laundry to the lavanderia. i felt like we lived in some kind of utopia… where there was no cooked food. in the end, i love you neighborhood for all of your quirks and acquired beauty.
