Yesterday afternoon, I giddily got my keys to find treasures in my mailbox.
Then I realized that there was a man in a sleeping bag underneath my mailbox. My neighbors watched me as I attempted unsuccessfully to get around the man.
“We have a No Trespassing sign for one more month,” my neighbor pointed to the barely noticeable sign in the window of the first floor. “He had been pooping all over.”
I sullenly said in acceptance because it surely wasn’t a nonviolent act, “Well I guess people have a right to sleep wherever they want.”
A few months ago, I complained to my landlord to check our lights because there were always random people drinking from paper bags on my steps. The light was supposed to shoo away people at night. Usually I did find the stairs clear and unfortunately sometimes I couldn’t tell if they were neighbors or random strangers.
I uncomfortably tried to get to my mail, trying not to straddle the sleeping man as I shimmied to get my mail. No treasures, unfortunately.
This afternoon, the man was still there. Chris saw my anxiety and knew that I was too chicken to call the police. Recalling an episode from season 5 of the wire, he called the cops reporting that there was a man who hadn’t moved for 24 hours and he was afraid of talking to him.
A fire ambulance arrived in 1 minute 38 seconds and the man woke up reluctantly. He cursed loudly while I hid behind the blinds of my second floor apartment. The emergency crews gave him a pamphlet of nearby homeless shelters.
There is a truck parked in a red zone in front of my apartment when the emergency vehicle arrived. I wonder if the truck got a parking ticket.