Grease Is... Greasy.

 Update on a previous post titled 'Grease Is The Word.'

I wish I could tell you I approached my homeless neighbor, offered him some food, or sunscreen, or a comfy pillow, or cash. I wish I could tell you we became great friends and started exchanging music playlists with each other.​ I wish I could tell you that I found out his name, and it is something elegant like 'Sebastian', or 'Alexander', or 'Leonard.' I wish I could tell you that we wave to each other every morning, and I call out to him from my window 'Good Night' every night. I wish...

But sadly, I cannot. 

See, over the last few days, I've noticed a change happen to my neighbor across the street.
A subtle change. A change in music, here and there. Suddenly there were some less-than-pleasant tunes coming out of his tent. And some loud coughs, here and there. Not too worrisome, but coughs these days are literally THE PLAGUE if ya know what I mean. I noticed some more trash around his usually neat tent, here and there. And today - a woman, seemingly a homeless woman, sat near him, and the two discussed SHOOTING UP so loud, that I could hear it from my second floor window.

Could it be that they were talking about something other than shooting up drugs?  Yes, it's possible.
But after seeing what goes on in the  nearby streets in my neighborhood... it's not likely.

Would I still go and approach the man, carefully and with distance (after all, the COUGHING...ouch) and do that neighborly gesture I was planning on? Probably.

But my fantasy of the 'Kind homeless neighbor' got a bit tainted suddenly. And boy do I rather live in a fantasy... especially when the reality seem grim and deeply concerning. 

Wish me luck as I tip toe my way across the street, from the comfortable fantasy of my second floor window, to the troubling reality of the tent in the street.