cat on roof

The Mission has a bad rap. It smells. This is true. There are a lot of odors most of the time. I live three stories above most of them, so at home I am fine. When I reach the street there is no telling what will assault me. Nose or otherwise. But. Actually...BUT, in general the people are friendly. One might say neighborly. I might be that one. Sure, it's what you put out there. Aging in the ghetto has mellowed my harsh. I want to be a neighbor. I want to know some of their names. I haven't gotten that far yet. Except for Tommy. He's a guy who walks in circles around the block most of the day. He lives in a "home" a few doors down and I suspect a lithium concoction informs his pace. Or drag. With head hung off to the right. I bumped him with the garage door yesterday. Did I mention he's silent? Not always. If you speak to him his head pops up and he apparently has a lot to say. I found this out a few weeks ago. I figured after ten years of quietly passing one another it was up to me to get things started. I wasn't sure if he'd ever actually seen me - head down and all. I had to decide if it was a hello or an hola. After 10 years I'm pretty good at this. It was definitely a hello. I took the leap and up came the head and the eyes were open and surprisingly alert and off he went. Hi, hi. I know you. I see you. Are you Italian? I get asked this almost as often as I am asked if The Yogini is my twin. No to both. So, this is mostly to say that I wander the Mission a few times a day. And in the last few years (yes, I'm slow - I'm a Capricorn) I've taken the time to smile at passersby. Greet and assist when it seems right or helpful or I have the time, which is most of the time. And in the Mission, almost everyone smiles back and has a kind word. Sometimes two. Tommy had at least fifty-three that day. Not so many when I smacked him with the garage. But generally there is a good exchange. A feeling that we are lucky to have what we've got. That we get more sunshine than the rest of the city. But I can't limit my wandering to the Mission. I haven't aged that much. So I slip into the surrounding districts and then I slip back and hardly anyone notices. Especially in Noe Valley. Sounds pretty, right? They say it "no-we", so it's sing songy. Every December people add an "L" to the street signs and they are always shopping and strolling with newborns and drinking coffee and coming back from a workout. They actually have stuff. Houses and condos and fancy family cars and new clothes and investments and retirement plans and ski passes and nannies and JOBS. And they are well-paid. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you that they have great health plans that include chiropractic and acupuncture and 4 weeks in the tropics. And in the Mission most of the people I pass have shoes. And in Noe Valley this morning I am sure that I passed 50 people on the street and the only one who almost said something (I think he would have if he wasn't so surprised) was a city worker holding a wire while another guy was being hoisted up a pole. Not so much as a smirk from any one of these poor bastards who, boo hoo, had their lattes and were headed off to their, why me, desk jobs where they were going to have to do some work for a few minutes each hour between solitaire and travel searches on the internet. Yeah, the Mission smells pretty bad most of the time. But you can get a good taco and Mr. Thanasi at the corner store will wave to you from across the street.