Tuesday Morning, 11.49AM

The hydrants have been running for two days now.

Full on, water rushing in an arc through the air then spilling into the streets running.

At first, it was amusing... someone took off the cap to let the children play in the cool water (as if I'd let my child near that stuff) in this heat. The only people I see near it are the crack dealers who are washing their cars. Rubbish floats down the gutters to pile against the other piles of rubbish already stacked on the curbs. This creates a change in the landscape.... we now have stinky stacks of dirty diapers and old bags of half eaten food that will mold at a snappier rate than normal.

This adds to my living pleasures here in the Bronx.

Last night, my neighbor told me she's still searching for a new place to live....it's tough, she said. No one wants to give Section 8 housing out. "I wanna get my boy out of here." she said. Her eyes dart, watching the cars drive slowly down the street, music making the air move. "He ain't gonna be like me, no. I beat that shit. No, he ain't gonna be like me."

Her father, as always, tips his hat and offers me his seat. "Mamii...sit. Sit."

The little boys hold the gate open, walk the terrier around the courtyard, "Dats some pretty dog. Can we feed her?" The ice cream they give her comes up an hour later. They were all happy for awhile, so, it's worth the clean up.

While I struggle to talk to the dad, they had strutted up and down, showing her off, keeping her out of the stream of water in the gutter... showing off to the next building.

"No, dis dog is the white lady's dog. We got a white lady in our building."

I am a trophy.

I found out my building is now known as the building with the white lady in it... ironic, as I've been having a discussion online with a fellow theater person in LA over colour blindness in theater. I think the arts are the one place it should be a level playing field... talent should be the top priority, not the colour or race. Sadly, it still is true that those factors will step up and be part of casting. And, in some plays, it may have to stay that way... although, I wouldn't mind seeing anyone play Othello... just show me the talent.

I digress.

I live in an area where I am sneered at because I can't speak Spanish. One shopkeeper pretends to not understand me at all, and will short change me if he can. We have constant staring battles when I am forced to shop there I know he speaks English, I've heard him. He calls me puta, I call him fuckwit.

Oddly, we are starting to get along.

I may be able to swelter it out here under the roof until September.... there is a place I can move to then. I may have to move back to the land of Utes, things are not going well there.

Life moves on, cotton fabric is my friend, and Limewire is the best thing I've found online. Where else can you find a copy of Pete Seeger and Judy Collins singing Union Maid to download for free?