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Published on Aug 12, 2014
it got old swarming drug dealers took over my neighborhood gangs hanging in the park all night and day cars cruise shopping the projects nightly gunfights in the alley almost unstartable cars cough and smoke peel out/floored radios and tape players blare sentimental mariachi music or anonymous disco heartbeat’s muffled thump 20 ft. from my head an uninsulated mother-in-law below code garage top apartment post earthquake abandoned by the landlord
last time we slept there zealous competing pushers appeared at our parking each mimed different ingestions
I smiled & waved them off like annoying hors d’ouvres servers
I found a large live round by the right rear tire and a big fast rat lives under the trash
“Oh, you won’t have those problems here,”
said the snappy sporty guy ringing me up in his bright store in my new neighborhood
it’s north near the bay quiet/solid big view of the red Golden Gate spanning the ocean fireplace mostly old people and their parents and earnest kids live here
“...although, did you hear what happened the other night? Just up the street a guy walked out of the Thai restaurant two guys grabbed him/spun him against the glass another put an ice pick in his head so deep it broke off leaving him a vegetable.” everywhere it’s the same
whatever the address whatever the rent death owns the building
Rex Butters with Rag'n'Bones: Gerry Fialka, guitar, Peter Marshall, bass, and Merritt Evan Raff, drums.