Construction is still being done in my apartment building, so I thought nothing of it when I saw a bundled moving blanket and a solitary sock on the front porch this morning when I left for class.
When I got home, I was chatting up our contracting team, who asked me “Hey, did you meet your new neighbor this morning?”
My confused look led them into a fit of giggles, to which they responded “come with us.”
I went down to the front porch, and was pointed to the less than savory aspects of my “new neighbor”. The blanket and the sock had covered up the crack-stained, burnt pieces of foil that littered our front porch. They then proceeded to inform me that “under that piece of newspaper over there is the shit that he took this morning. Congratulations, you’re now sharing your flat with a crackhead.”
A crackhead made our front porch home last night.
I mean I completely understand why: we’re on a private alley block, no neighbors on one side, and it’s a completely sheltered porch, in one of the warmest parts of San Francisco. If I were a homeless person, I’d probably want to stay here, too.
It doesn’t make me feel any better about the fact that I now have to worry about crackhead camp’s home base now being MY home base.
Here is the foil, the blanket, and the newspaper-covered shit. Welcome home, Me!