Well, when last we updated you - life as the urban cliff dweller was
decidedly interesting and of note. Walks through a Victor Hugo like
tilt a whirl with dashes of mere incipient madness thrown in.
Interesting, walkable and somewhat electric at times.

And then just a few weeks ago, one Friday past, two murders within just
a few hundred yards of me.

On my way home from work, my regular route, the swat team had my route
completely blocked off. I may almost begin to recognize these guys by
first name fairly soon.

And then then next morning as I walked from home to the gym, I found
myself walking through the remnants of a taped off crime scene. No
"police tape" or some such thing was marked on said tape and so I
didn't think too much of it. After all, I live in a place where things
often don't seem to make sense.

And then that next evening, in the last light of day, walking that same
route, with the light hitting just right to catch the glimmers of
cracked and crazed glass - I saw bullet holes and cracked shop windows
that I didn't remember having seen before. hmmmmm

And so that Monday morning I asked a colleague if something had
happened over the weekend.

Well, yes, as it turns out. Two murders.

A drive by shooting of two women in a car mere minutes before I should
have been there.

And then a murder a few hundred yards from where I slept completely
unawares.

And so, this is where I live. These seem to be my people of the moment.

And so it gave me pause for thought.

And caution.

And mindfulness.

And then Ysabella and I ventured out one evening afterwards on our
favorite route to downtown and city hall.

And there we encountered the aforementioned crack head.

Everyone loves Ysabella.

But this man, clearly out of his mind, looked at her and emphatically
said, "You'd better move that fucking wolf."

And I looked into his eyes and saw what was and wasn't there.

He kept escalating his imperative.

And I watched as a man with a suitcase slung over his shoulder came up
behind him, to walk past me and on down the street. I saw the fear in
his eyes and saw the look as he did the mental math of should he stop
and help me or not. And he walked on by.

And so there I was, with a man clearly out of his mind, at the corner
of stop and don't stop, yelling at me to, "Move that fucking wolf."

I realized that saying nothing, was not a course of action that was
working.

So, I said as firmly as I could "Got it!"

He turned and walked straight through traffic, car brakes screaming,
and then began a tirade at the gas station across the street.

In a flash of wisdom, the light turned to walk and Ysabella and I
headed the other direction.

Trouble averted for this particular day.