I am sitting at my window seat, looking out onto another street.
Let’s gloss over the fact we had no help moving at all, not a suitcase helped with, not a van, nothing. Everyone else in the shelter got that. Lets just skip by the fact it took us from 3.40pm until 7.50pm with many trips hauling heavy bags, and the fact my back hurts. Lets not dwell on the bad or unkind stuff, just for once.
A junkie is using a car side mirror to see to shoot a vein in his neck. He dabs at the blood with a white face cloth. He is getting nowhere. I kinda feel sorry for the smart blue Honda that sits there it’s innocence shattered. A woman is playing a guitar as she walks down the street, singing some song that has no words. It doesn’t need them. I feel her. There are no sirens, no sounds except the rush of the traffic and footsteps on our wood floor.
I have keys in my purse.
I have an avocado and a tethered the phone to my computer to write. I am thinking about tea. I am thinking about inflating a bed. I could not wish for more.
The acoustics in this place are great.
Everything sounds just fine at the not so paltry household.
Everything is adding up just fine.
…and there are the sirens. I don’t know if I should feel proud of where I live, but I love the Tenderloin. I am also glad this is a pretty good block of it.
Did I mention I’m home?