Life Under the Dome – Grant Swalwell
Ten/Pen neighborhood south of The Plaza (my neighborhood) has questionable characters milling about at odd hours, usually keeping to themselves on stoops and curbs, under streetlights. They generally just want a dollar.
Yet many of my peers, most even whiter than my gringo self seem to confuse working class neighborhoods with South Central Chicago. Yes I hear a gunshot about once a week. No big deal.
Though you could argue that between my street smarts (good for a person that bleach couldn’t make whiter) and nascent kung fu abilities, I’m well adapted in a below-average neighborhood.
I don’t fear my safety — just that of my roommates who are all cute girls. Many of my peers also consider it bigotry to assume any person (especially disheveled homeless looking ones) out after dark is potentially crazy or just predacious.
I consider it common sense, and counter to them welcome the gentrification planned to end a block down from me.