Who are the junkies in your neighborhood?

In my travels about San Francisco, I don't get over to the nice parts of town very often. The nicest it gets for me is when I go downtown, and usually I'm on my way to a bar in the Tenderloin anyway.

I was thinking that lately everyone I have to deal with in my daily life is a drug addict, crazy, retarded, or some combination of the three. The other day I was in line at the post office between a homeless guy in a wheelchair and a crazy Tourette's old lady. Neither of them was particularly obnoxious, though the homeless person was pretty stanky.

Today at the Lavateria, the whole place reeked like wet dog, which means that a homeless junkie had been in earlier. That's when you check the machines before you throw your clothes in. Washing machines used by homeless people still smell after they're done, and are often full of disintegrated scraps of those free blankets they give out to street people.

Then a retarded man started a conversation with me. He was nice enough; much better than Bothersome Crazy and only trying to make conversation rather than complain about things that don't exist.

Fans, you know I don't leave my house all that often, and when I do I'd just like to have an interaction with the part of humanity other than its dregs.