Home is where the heart is.  Isn't that what they say?

And so I wonder, to whom this city belongs?

Is it those who share these streets with me on my walks with Ysabella?  Maybe the homeless woman we passed last night who suddenly burst into a outpouring of profanity and frustration, all filtered through her drug induced haze.

It is certainly not the random concert goers who visit on a scheduled and sporadic time frame.

It isn't the office workers who populate the downtown bars ever so briefly after work.

Maybe, it is the two young children who seem to belong to the owners of the pizza delivery business.  Their play area is a very finite piece of sidewalk wedged in between the have's and have nots.

Me, I take ownership and umbrage with all that is here.  I am in the midst of a swirling debate that could fall to either side.  Given the existence of probabilities that have already been cast, the fate seems almost preordained.

You be the judge.

Me, I have learned to cross the street when I see trouble coming my way.