Someone just got arrested outside my front door

Roomie Chris just got home. I went up to throw a load of delicates into the washer and heard a bunch of shouting from the front of the house:

“GET DOWN, GET DOWN, GET DOWN!”

Twas a policeman, gun drawn, arresting a shirtless man with long dreads. Chris was watching out the peephole and saw another man run away down the street.

I was chatting with a friend this weekend about where she’s going to move when she starts a new job in a few months. “You should move to my neighborhood!” I said. “But don’t you feel unsafe at night?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Honestly, not really. But maybe I have a false sense of security.

The only time I’ve felt personally threatened was once when I was riding on the sidewalk because the line of cars was pressed up against the curb so close that there was no where to go and a man lunged toward me apparently trying to knock me off. There was the horrible time that our friend Mike got jumped on the end of the block and then there are stories from Tim about gun shots in the back alley.

Apparently, the corner a block away is some kind of special intersection for a local gang and you don’t really want to hang ’round there. Then this weekend, we found out from Bates St. historian and clean-up orchestrator, Ms. Regans, that tagging on the garage doors of vacant lots ends up becoming a sign that advertises, “deal drugs here.”

It’s fascinating to try to understand what a difference it can make to clean a street, paint over graffiti, have people outside.

I love my neighborhood. It’s one of the very best parts about living in DC and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else (even Mt. Pleasant, which seems like a sylvan paradise, and also is the place — I’ve been informed — where all the “cool foodies” hang out…)

Around here, people are relaxed. They smile and look at me and say hello. They hang out on the street in the evenings and talk. There are lots of families. Sometimes I jump double-dutch with two little girls a few doors down (not very successfully) and their amazingly beautiful mother. The kids from the nearby KIPP academy stare at me when I ride back from work, and they wave back when I wave even though I’m 100% sure they think my helmet is totally uncool.

When I first arrived, I felt uncomfortable. I stood out. The way I looked and the way I dressed. I felt exposed. Now, I feel like my neighbors have my back.