If you pay attention in the Tenderloin, you'll observe the kinds of quotidian patterns that happen anywhere else. There's order to the neighborhood; it just doesn't manifest itself in the way that it does in more pleasant pockets of the city. I ride the bus through the Tenderloin every morning, and I know which characters to expect depending on the time I get on.
I have random bus crushes and bus nemeses, but I also look on the street for certain faces. There's a woman who always stays with me. It's hard to pinpoint her age; she could be 30, she could be 50, but she looks hardened either way. Her brassy brown hair is always tangled, her face is ruddy and puffy, her clothes are stained and ragged. She is living a hard life. Sometimes I see her sitting on Eddy Street, or occasionally panhandling by the BART station at Montgomery. She almost always is caressing a small, twitching rat that seems tame and as affectionate as a rodent can be. It's by far the most poignant scene I see in this city.
I have random bus crushes and bus nemeses, but I also look on the street for certain faces. There's a woman who always stays with me. It's hard to pinpoint her age; she could be 30, she could be 50, but she looks hardened either way. Her brassy brown hair is always tangled, her face is ruddy and puffy, her clothes are stained and ragged. She is living a hard life. Sometimes I see her sitting on Eddy Street, or occasionally panhandling by the BART station at Montgomery. She almost always is caressing a small, twitching rat that seems tame and as affectionate as a rodent can be. It's by far the most poignant scene I see in this city.
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