Saturday, February 6, 2010

February 5th, 2010

My neighborhood is extraordinarily peculiar. There are the Oldy McOldersons, the homeless people pushing shopping carts, methtards, and an ebullient community of drag queens. Their official bar is 4 doors down from our house, and Saturday night is a drug-crazed, high-heel stomping, wig-pulling, beglittered fiesta of the damned. The fighting is a near-constant, and used to keep me posted unwaveringly at the window, wishing for a baseball bat, mace, or even a sock full of horse-shoe magnets. But now, oddly--yet thankfully, it manages to lull me to sleep. You can get used to anything, I swear!


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