I moved into a historical building that is two-hundred miles away from where I used to live, because I got a new job. While I’m happy about the job, the move itself is not it’s all cracked up to be. The building is in a horrid neighborhood and there was a shooting two days after I moved in. I was desperate to get situated and so I had to take what I could get.
The truth is, I’ve lived in this area of California before, and it was after I moved away that I learned some odd things about the geography. Where I used to live, the rents are very high; here the rents are reasonable. Here, though, the crime is high. The cultural shock is stunning. The racial mix is oppressive. Drug use is high. And so it’s strange that even with an MA, I was not able to find a job back in Sonoma that could pay the ridiculously high costs of living, yet here I am making better money, and I have access to affordable living.
Even stranger is that because I couldn’t afford a real home in Sonoma, which is a beautiful place to live for the rich, I was forced to live in less-than-desirable conditions, a room with three melted windows in a parking lot for a tire-changing shop, pictured here:
How odd is it that I should have to move to a place that is crawling with crime just so that I can have what seems to be something decent. The catch is, I will have to remain indoors as much as possible if I want to live. (A poster is hanging in the laundry area which concerns the recent murder of a man who just so happens to be a white male.)
My first week and I am thus exposed to the terrors of a neighborhood shooting, posters of dead men on the wall, and to enhance the matter, I witnessed with my own eyes a crazy man who for reasons unknown, jumped atop of this vehicle and began smashing the windshield with his foot. Luckily I was with others and together we were able to see the man apprehended, but I’m sure this will not complete the line of tales that will arise from my impending experience amid the environs of my latest domestic situation.