Broken Window, Footprints in Snow. I Don't Trust My Neighbors Anymore

If you go over the Line and behind the tracks, you will find the house where I once lived. It was squeezed amongst other house just like it; all seem to have fallen on hard times.
I lived with many other people, some whose names I knew, others who I didn't. I found one of these people's cats under a bush with open eyes. My first words to him were "Your cat is dead."
When I would sit in the lobby and look up at the bottom of the tub, and watch the water drip through the floor, I would wonder whether he would come tumbling down, tub and all.
At first, I used to wake up in the middle of the night when the passing train shook my room, but you can get used to almost anything.
On my way to school each morning, I would watch the young Hasidic men walk to the synagogue, case in hand, beard beginning to sprout, their charcoal shoes tapping on the sidewalk.
In orange pants Curtis and I stood against the fence and watched them play basketball in full black suits.
Their mothers and sisters played outside their house in dresses.
At night there were sounds of fighting, screaming, yelling, and car alarms. Sometimes it was ours.
But then we moved.
Now I go out at night. Now a mother walks with her tiny be-sweatered dog to the end of my street to meet her children at the bus.
Now I miss the old days.

This is practically the only picture I have from that time.
KITTEN CAESAR IS TOO GOOD!