At some point my alley became hallowed ground for the neighborhood junkies. I suspect this began with the miracle of the stealable bike, but it has since become a place of refuge, commerce, and storage of recently acquired goods. In the past three months I have come home to discover: Seatless bikes, Bikeless wheels, Futon Frames, Shitting whores, and a naked man trying on stolen pants.
The bike, frame, and naked man were removed with minimal negotiation. The shitting whore required painful conversation and a bribe of toilet paper and a plastic bag. I’m not using whore in a pejorative sense, that was her stated profession. I’d call her a sex worker, but she was shitting in my alley at two in the afternoon, so I don’t think she was in the union. I would have asked her why she chose my alley, specifically, but it wasn’t a great moment for either of us and I didn’t want to extend it
A month back a guy overdosed in his car, directly in front of my house. I could tell he was zonked out when I walked by, but he seemed to be texting so I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I was wrong. He was dead. An hour later his body was laid out on the street and my first thought was “At least he had the decency to die in his car”. Even after they had strapped the corpse to a gurney, I was half convinced the EMT’s would just roll him into my alley and leave me to deal with it. The city has changed me.