January. Death is always hovering.
The first homocide in San Francisco took place about 28 hours ago on 6th and Stevenson. Our block. A stabbing. I don't know the details. There were about 50 homocides in San Francisco last year, 48 in 2010, and 98 in 2009. Probably quite a few in my neighborhood every year.
Yet I am not afraid.
We are on the edge of the Tenderloin. I have grown to love it here.
Tenderloin in beef or pork is an oblong shape spanning two primal cuts: the short loin and the sirloin. The tenderloin sits beneath the ribs, next to the backbone. It has two ends: the butt and the "tail."
Tenderloin, a song by Rancid, a musical from 1960, a film in 1928, a novel by Samuel Hopkins Adams, a neighborhood in Manhattan or San Francisco.
Tenderloin, a new play premiering at the Cutting Ball Theater in April. In the Tenderloin.
Death came close to taking my son a month ago. His friend was driving him home from work on a country road and they hit a tree going 50 MPH. No seatbelts. The airbag saved his life but broke his first anterior rib, very near his heart, and there are other injuries still subtly plaguing him.
But he is alive.
I asked him if that was the closest he'd come to death and he said no, and told me about another close call involving cars.
Death in the eyes of the people who live on the street.
Life prevails.
For now.
Waiting for the push of spring to move my thoughts in that direction. For the newness to push up through the soil.
The first homocide in San Francisco took place about 28 hours ago on 6th and Stevenson. Our block. A stabbing. I don't know the details. There were about 50 homocides in San Francisco last year, 48 in 2010, and 98 in 2009. Probably quite a few in my neighborhood every year.
Yet I am not afraid.
We are on the edge of the Tenderloin. I have grown to love it here.
Tenderloin in beef or pork is an oblong shape spanning two primal cuts: the short loin and the sirloin. The tenderloin sits beneath the ribs, next to the backbone. It has two ends: the butt and the "tail."
Tenderloin, a song by Rancid, a musical from 1960, a film in 1928, a novel by Samuel Hopkins Adams, a neighborhood in Manhattan or San Francisco.
Tenderloin, a new play premiering at the Cutting Ball Theater in April. In the Tenderloin.
Death came close to taking my son a month ago. His friend was driving him home from work on a country road and they hit a tree going 50 MPH. No seatbelts. The airbag saved his life but broke his first anterior rib, very near his heart, and there are other injuries still subtly plaguing him.
But he is alive.
I asked him if that was the closest he'd come to death and he said no, and told me about another close call involving cars.
Death in the eyes of the people who live on the street.
Life prevails.
For now.
Waiting for the push of spring to move my thoughts in that direction. For the newness to push up through the soil.
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