I was walking from my San Francisco AirBnB host home on the corner of Larkin and California, on my way to the Cal Train Station on a cool Friday morning. I enjoy walking through the streets of San Francisco, taking in all that is wonderful about the city: its colors, fresh air, diversity, and the smell of fresh coffee from its many cafes.
Without planning it, my walk took me through the heart of the Tenderloin district. As I strolled along, I began to feel uneasy. The smell of urine, marijuana, and crack ignited a sense of fear. I immediately became alert and cautious. Everywhere I turned I saw so much need, homelessness, hunger, addiction, prostitution, sadness, and pain. My heart sank.
As I turned the corner I saw an old black woman with messy hair wearing a worn out red bikini. She was chubby and short, and looked awkward in high heels. She was singing out loud with her back towards me. She turned around and I noticed a large protruding lump sticking out of her mid section, just underneath her sternum and next to her left rib cage. As I walked past her, she approached me, put her arm around me and said: “Come on Baby, sing with me. I’m Janet Jackson!” I laughed a little and told her: “I’m good, just walking through.”
I then turned the corner onto the next street and saw four homeless Latinos smoking cigarettes and talking out loud in a circle. I overhead one of them speaking loudly to the group in Spanish: “Hay una pinche corrupción en la ciudad. (There is so much damn corruption in the city government)!” At that instant, he turned and made eye contact with me as I walked closer to his group. He must have identified me as another vato from the barrio (maybe it was my new tattoo of the Virgen de Guadalupe on my forearm) because he proceeded to ask me: “Cierto o no cierto barrio? (True or not True barrio boy?)” To which I responded: “Cierto (True)!”
