Living in the Haight has to be one of the most interesting experiences I will ever come into contact with.
Wednesday morning, I awoke to the sound of my two neighbors fighting. Bruce and Reggie are roommates on the third floor of my building (which is a diversely-built old victorian home). They are constantly arguing with each other.
Supposedly, Reggie is a crack dealer -though I've never seen him deal anything. Reggie is also a deformed child from the 60s -a product of when doctors prescribed medication that they thought was beneficial for the mothers during child birth but resulted in childern that had defects. His left arm looks like it belongs to a thirteen year old and the left side of his face is permently paralized.
Bruce is a former hotel worker whose been out of work for over two years. He's an alcoholic that hides it terribly. Middle-aged and not knowing what to do with his life, he resorts to drinking so he can cope with the realities of his unwinding life.
After I got out of the shower and started to get dressed, I looked out my window and saw them fist-fighting in the street. But the sad thing was, that it was completely anecdotal. Reggie was running in circles around Bruce, ducking and dodging all of Bruce's delayed sways; Bruce huffing and puffing in complete frustration.
As I walked out the door to go to school, Bruce was at the bottom of the stoop, waiting impatiently for Reggie. The second I opened the door, Bruce swung around expecting Reggie to be taunting him again at the top of the stairs. When he saw me, and I asked him how he was doing, he patted me on the back and told me "I thought you were the guy I was going to kill."
That's just one moment of living in the Haight.Posted by marc at August 30, 2003 12:25 AM | TrackBack