My neighborhood

I live in a blue-collar, rapidly gentrifying neighborhood.

That’s not completely accurate.

The neighborhood I live in defies my penchant for classifications. It’s the home of a “west coast fusion” taco truck and a new pizza place that serves curry coconut pizza. It’s also the home of a graffiti-adorned high school, a vibrant skate park, a few community gardens, and countless little libraries. It hosts decrepit houses surrounded by chain-link fences and many newly-built townhomes. Three of my neighbors have lived here, in the same houses, for twenty-plus years. Same houses, somewhat-same neighborhood.

A friend who lives in Austin, Texas called the townhomes “progress.” It’s what happened to Austin, too, he said. He scoffed at the taco truck though.

The neighborhood I live in is a reflection of the paradoxes, binaries, tensions, and contradictions of the city.

I walked toward downtown last night. I walked past condos that still being build a few weeks ago. They’re fully occupied now. I walked past people who are homeless and congregate close to downtown. Past Magic – the most gentle and loving dog I met. “She’s friendly” her owner said. That was an understatement. Past a soup kitchen. Past the bike lanes. Past two paramedics on bikes – a frequent sight given the city’s overdose crisis.

I walked past, until I stopped.

The bowtie-wearing bartender chiseled away at a block of ice. I skimmed the menu: Southwest-spiced grilled shrimp cocktail, marinated in chipotle peppers and fresh lime juice with fresh mango salsa fresca… flash fried Humboldt squid, creole dusted with fried banana peppers and remoulade sauce.

I order a craft beer made by one of the many local breweries, and reflect on progress. And contradictions.