Today Spotted Walking to Urban Market (the end of the block):

• A man on the stoop three door down hunched over.  He does not live there.  He is talking about how "Whores should think twice about the consequences"  This conversation is going on without anyone around him.

What in the world is going on in this hood?

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Maybe the world looks a little more nuts now that I have moved my home office about and my desk is now right by the lone window in the front. 

Before it sounded nuts with the wails of screaming crack heads and angry SOMA denizens bemoaning to baby mammas and them in turn asking very succinctly to "FUCK OFF YOU MOTHER FUCKER"

Now I get a visual.  What I thought was the need for sun has turned out to be hours of great times watching people in front of my home.

This place is cursed.  The shortest building on the block of my street.  It seems it is the magnet for people stopping.  Just stopping and doing everything you can imagine.  To the simple act of stopping, making a phone call and explaining to someone that their former job can kiss their ass...to fisticuffs Ghetto style...

To completely normal people cheese falling off their crackers.  A completely normal upwardly mobile person heading to work downtown.  Friday found me having to go outside and ask this man in a full business suit to pick up his computer bag from the curb...zip up his fly and find a real bathroom to pee in.

Even the people downstairs.  When they moved here they were pretty sweet people.

I now watch the man below me stalk this street.  Back and forth.  If he is not walking his miniature dog named "Butch" (who used to be a cute little puppy...and now thinks he is a much bigger attack dog), he paces back and forth up the street.  I never see his lady anymore.  My sick sense of humor imagined she was eaten by Butch in her sleep.  The last time I saw her, I physically went downstairs and asked her how she was doing and why I never see her:

her (numb):  I don't need to be out there.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. I have a million assumptions.  But even there, I still don't know what the hell that means. 

Maybe she knows.  Maybe she knows that this block causes nuts.

Maybe, just maybe, THIS APARTMENT BUILDING TURNS PEOPLE NUTS 

The couple who lived in this apartment (when I was in the basement apartment) were not what you would call "Fantastic Close City Dwellers"  On the contrary.  They would have the police here every other week due to the fact that she used to beat him up. Sunday morns was the Rave Dance party good and loud.  They moved a lot of people out from underneath them.

She scared the daylights out of me when she tripped down the backstairs to my apartment drunk and went on about how she wanted to be an actor.  When trying to point her to sites to achieve this (and not to anger her as she had ambled right into the back door of the apartment) she went on about how much she loved comedy and the comic stylings of Carlos Mencia.

She then asked me if there was anyway I could find his HOME ADDRESS online.  Mr. Mencia owes me money to keep crazy chicks out of his hair.  Right after he reimburses Bill Cosby.     

To get her to leave I went into the kitchen and gave her a beer.  She happily stumbled back up the stairs.

They were evicted a month later for not paying rent. It turned out they were crafty nuts.  They found a way to jimmy the electricity where no one on the first floor was paying for it...and instead everyone downstairs was.

The sad thing:  They looked like nice upwardly mobile people with actual jobs.  The kind of people who could have been completely normal living in North beach.  But they ended up living here.  Almost certain they thought in 2001 that this area was going to be gentrified. 

Nope. this Hood is sturdy and so ingrained in nuts it turns even the biggest middle class dweller screaming "I HATE YOUR ASS MOTHERFUCKER" down this street.

And, this building is made of voodoo. It makes them stop...do a little crazy dance, unzip their gap pants and take a pee.

This place turned them nuts.

Maybe this is where crazy begins in San Francisco. 

Maybe this place was built by Emperor Norton in a deranged proclamation once upon a time.  Maybe this was the place the street planner of San Francisco lived and that is why all the streets do not geographically match up longitude and latitude wise.

This street is named after a hooker.  Maybe this is where she lived.

Maybe that is why this guy today is screaming about whores and how they are doomed three doors down.   The ghost of this hooker walked out behind me to go to Urban market too.  He was talking to the dead whore behind me.

The romantic, nutty side of me enjoys the idea that I live in The Place That Makes San Francisco Go Nuts the moment you walk by.

The pragmatic, normal side needs to move to North beach.