On the Street Where I Live

I found a pink plastic bag, a can of Fix-a-Flat and a new, stark white pair of Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs in my truck bed yesterday. I hesitate to even contemplate how these items came to be nestled in among the crackly brown leaves and day-old rainwater floating in the grooves. Once again, I am living on a rather interesting street on Capitol Hill where the neighbors are out on their porch all day (and sometimes all night), there's a blue taxi cab from Maryland constantly parked within five feet of my front door and there's a tiny corner market with bars on the window and a female Asian proprietor taking money behind about a foot of plexi-glass. In addition to cold Cokes, juices, and various assortments of chips, she also serves egg sandwiches and a host of other grilled items that may or may not relate to Chinese food. I couldn't say what her hours are as I've only found the door open once in my many attempts to satisfy my craving for dark, carbonated goodness, but as the place still exists and the sign remains painted above the windowless wall, I assume she's making enough to survive.

Our house does nothing but add to the block's character. The paint is peeling on every side, the green stuff growing haphazardly in the front 'yard' can only be called grass on a good day, and our front walk looks like it's seen more earthquakes than San Francisco. I suppose the cracks would also explain why our front door only occasionally seems to fit the door frame. My roommate has since dubbed the entire establishment "Sealander" and we're running out of room on the current list of necessary repairs. We discovered a water stain on the ceiling in the kitchen this morning and are now anticipating the day when someone using the upstairs bathroom finds themselves continuing their shower in the kitchen sink.

With all of its faults, I still love its character and am even thankful for the watchful neighbors who could probably tell you in a heartbeat how many times I've left the house in any given week. "Looks like she went grocery shoppin' again;" "Must be headed off to work;" "Ooh, better not stay parked there, baby. They gonna ticket you fo' sho." It's our own little version of Mayberry. Just with a little more flavah.