Walking up _____ Street today there was a lot of fresh blood. Not a lot of police. A lot of tape. We had missed it. The blood was still wet, so presumably not by that long. D____ insisted on walking us past the mess, past the alleys that the freaks creep out of all hours of the day let alone the night. The sirens barely bother wailing, they do it in fits and starts, playing sounding the alarm, playing send the cavalry, playing protection instead of offering a lazy clean up. It was a lot of blood. Told a story in drops and splatter beyond the yellow tape, and then fits and globs and vast clots of red. It didn’t tell anything good.
Again.
Who was it? Who caught it this time? Who got popped? Was is in their apartment? Was it on the street? Was it in a place they felt safe? Was it in a place they knew was dangerous? Were they scared was it quick were they high were they drunk was it a man was it a woman were they old were they happy were they young did they have it all ahead did they know that it was about to be all behind. Who was it?
Who was it. Is there someone out there who did this one and that? Is there more than one person out there doing this or that or another? Do they care who they hurt? Do they have a type? Are we safe? Are we ever?
I probably should stop looking out the window with nothing to protect me apart from a vague sense that I am going to survive and so is the Boy.
Will the sun keep rising? Will there be a hot long summer of violence? Will I be able to outrun it? Will I get us out of here in time? These streets are marked for death, I fear. These streets are demanding their dues. Will they demand payment in blood, or will tribute do in words? It will have to do, I have bled enough, and the Boy deserves a future. I just want us to live. Is that so much to ask?
I have looked outside, and in short, I am afraid.
In a twisted unjust and cruel yet safer ideal world it is a personal matter, not a terror. In an ideal world I will stop feeling so creeped out at every smile in the street wondering if they are a killer.
I don’t know if I could handle the things you deal with every day.
You would if you had no choice. Im glad you have the choice that I dont have. Im holding on
I imagine you are right. I’m glad you’re holding on, as difficult as it has to be.
Doing my best, darling. Promise! I can’t wait to be able to tell you we have an apartment…x
I’m looking forward to getting that word.
That is so sweet of you to say so!
You are right, it shouldn’t be this way! I am sending you strong vibes in hopes you can get the hell out of there soon. Like NOW!
That would be good! Mission would be safer, just about any other area within SF would be safer…I would love to live in Western Addition along Fillmore, but that will have to wait until I manage to make a bit of a success out of life!