A day in my neighborhood.

I sit in my dining room, and I hear ice cream truck music.

First it’s “Clementine,” then it’s the “Theme from Love Story” again, and as I glance out the window, it’s a Mexican paleta vendor, likely the same one who I had heard playing the “Theme from Love Story” the last time around.

Then, the music stops.

Later, I go stroll up on an errand, and see a (black) (druggie-looking) guy out in front of a building where I hear there’ll be a one bedroom available.

He tells me he’s looking to move out because of the roaches, which are just everywhere and caused the people who just moved out to move out.

“Sometimes I go in the hallway,” he was like, “And it be like stepping on Cheerios.”

Later, after my errand, I go walk up to go see another apartment, and as I walk down a side street, there’s a little (Asian) kid hanging out of a building’s front window and his mom is saying something to him in Chinese from out of view, and the smell of homemade Chinese food is just pouring out the window and open door and onto the sidewalk, it smells like the inside of a Szechuan restaurant, only out on the sidewalk.