ba-dev-a-church-made-of-dirt
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> ==The sun rose as I walked out of my apartment on Rondel Place, shimmering over discarded needles and evaporating puddles of urine.== A homeless man wearing a tutu dragged an old car tire down the alley, presumably to repurpose it as a makeshift toilet.
When I first moved to San Francisco, it had taken me three months to find an apartment.
Finally, I met Zoe, a lesbian criminal-justice student offering a room.
The two of us now shared her bright-pink duplex on Rondel Place in the Mission District.
Our home sweet alley was flanked on one side by a popular taqueria and on the other by Esta Noche, a bar known for its Latino drag queens and deafening ranchera music.
==Making my way down Rondel to the BART station, a man across the alley opened his coat to show me his penis.
“Whatcha think of this, honey?” he said, waving it triumphantly at me.
“Well, man, I think you’re going to have to do better,” I replied.
His face fell.
I’d lived on Rondel Place for a year by now.
He really would have to do better.== --Smoke Gets in Your Eyes - Caitlin Doughty