I was always under the impression that my neighborhood is fairly safe. A gay haven of cafes and candle shops, buffered from the mania of Sunset Boulevard by lazy tree lined blocks upon which undersized best friends trot in Swarovski spangled collars. I even boast Hollywood Jesus as my neighbor - a man who sits serenly in his herb garden wearing a flowing white robe. What harm could come to me here?
Reality check. A chance encounter with a sweaty man who requested the use of my cell phone at 11:00 pm. As he slurred his request I observed the perfectly functional cell phone in his hand as he fumbled with the power button, managing to light up the screen instead of turning it off. Adrenaline. "No." I quickly walked away to the sound of him stumbling after me, the plastic bag he carried serving as a rustling warning. "C'mon, it's after 8:00 on a week day or something." Even though I was pretty scared, I was able to appreciate the accidental humor of my would-be mugger being concerned that I not go over my minutes. It was like my own personal Verizon network guy following me around, a drugged out, big, scary version without the adorable nerd glasses.
He followed me home. I quickly ran inside, triple locking it behind me. Can I hear him now? No. Good!
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