I'm a little on edge while in my neighborhood. With gentrification came conflict. The old doesn't like the new, and the new doesn't seem to care one way or another. I have mixed feelings about gentrification. On one hand the beer and the fences have improved tremendously, yet on the other hand, prices have ballooned to the point of people being evicted. I'm not in favor of eviction. I blame the false economy and make believe prices.
This is the story of my life; I get confused for Caucasian, which I technically am, mixed in with Indian blood which defines me as a Mexican, which in a general sense makes me an outsider. But because I look like an insider (Caucasian) I get hard looks from the outsiders who are my own people. The outsiders are mad at the insiders in my neighborhood, because the insiders came late to the party and didn't bring any beer. But they did bring beer. Good beer, kind of hoppy, but good.
Nowadays when I'm in public, I wonder if the outsiders think I'm insider and stealing their beer. I'm waiting for the day when someone says something to me, to question my station in life. I'd like to have a card or a badge to display for such an occasion, to present as evidence to the amount of time I've accumulated in the neighborhood. To prove my insider status. Or is it my outsider status? I may have crossed the line somewhere with regard to that. None of it makes much sense. The outsiders are the insiders and insiders are the outsiders. It's a game we play to keep things simple.
This is the story of my life; I get confused for Caucasian, which I technically am, mixed in with Indian blood which defines me as a Mexican, which in a general sense makes me an outsider. But because I look like an insider (Caucasian) I get hard looks from the outsiders who are my own people. The outsiders are mad at the insiders in my neighborhood, because the insiders came late to the party and didn't bring any beer. But they did bring beer. Good beer, kind of hoppy, but good.
Nowadays when I'm in public, I wonder if the outsiders think I'm insider and stealing their beer. I'm waiting for the day when someone says something to me, to question my station in life. I'd like to have a card or a badge to display for such an occasion, to present as evidence to the amount of time I've accumulated in the neighborhood. To prove my insider status. Or is it my outsider status? I may have crossed the line somewhere with regard to that. None of it makes much sense. The outsiders are the insiders and insiders are the outsiders. It's a game we play to keep things simple.
