My neighbor, my junkie

Apparently my housing is the most interesting thing about me since 80% of my posts revolve around it. So as a I was saying, I am situated between the hipster crackheads and the actual methadone-taking junkies. I decided early on to avoid the area northwest of my apartment since the methadone clinic waiting rooms seem to spill out onto the streets in that junction. I'm sure the man taking a nap under the scaffolding is delightful, but I don't want to wait around to find out since his friends are staring at me like I am a walking syringe.

Right outside my window, to the right of the cemetary and behind the alley the neighborhood kids use as a backyard/soccer field/general stage for the performing arts, is a church that caters to the chemically deranged. Every morning at 7:45AM a warden yells undecipherable words through a speaker system from the mineret of the clinic to awaken the junkie congregation. I can never understand what is being said. One morning I swore I heard a prebreakfast game of pick-up basketball. Another time I heard them collectively yelling the Pledge of Allegience. No matter what activity is used as an alarm clock, it always ends with "Let us pray." Then, the most frightening collective moan and scream is heard. Everyone seems to excise their demons at that point. Real demons! Real cracked out demons! with fangs! It sounds like a gang initiation style beat down of the Holy Spirit is occuring. I hope someone remembered to pray for Jesus. I suppose the drug dependent pray differently than the Chinese First Baptist do.