7/15/01

This morning I was woken by screaming. I tried to ignore it, but it got closer, passed below my window. Finally I got up, feeling a little hung over, and looked out the window. A black guy was following one of the crazy hookers and she was trying to get away from him. He hit her hard and the sound of the smack carried to my third floor apartment. I watched him follow her up and down folsom. He was faster than her and everytime he cornered her up against the building she screamed again. Sometimes she put her hands over her face and lifted a leg, other times she balled her fists at her side. She was crying. Finally I called the police. They asked me to describe the couple, I said one of the junkie hookers and her black pimp. They asked her hair color and I said honey. The dispatcher laughed and corrected me, light brown. She asked if the hooker was skinny, I said no, a little thick. The black guy? Five ten, black capp, very dark skin. Just at that moment the black guy looked up to my window, or at least I thought he did. Then he turned his attention back to his charge. I thought to myself, i’ll kill him. A thought quickly replaced by the thought, oh fuck, he’s going to kill me. The dispatcher asked if I wanted to talk to a police officer, if I would make a statement. I said no, I have to live here. Just get her away from him for a little while so I can get some sleep.

The scene reminded me of a similar situation back in amsterdam nine years ago. I was barking on the street for the casa rosa, the live sex show. A couple of kids were buying acid from the regular theives. one kid asked if it was a good idea. I told him to hold onto his money. The thief pulled a knife out at just the moment a police officer rounded the corner, a rare sight in the red light district. For a few days after that I would see the theif walking on the other side of the river, casing me out. One day he finally came up to me and told me he was going to cut off my nose. I have a large nose. I told him not to do that and he told me not to interupt his business. I agreed not to and we shook hands. I was lucky, he was letting me off. I think I came back to the states a week after that and took a job in a used car dealership.

The moral of the story, it’s never a good idea to snitch, especially on a homeless person. If they know where you live or work you’re fucked. They have nothing to lose. You can’t win. As my hang over left me I felt like a fool for calling the police on the crazy hooker and her abusive pimp. She was going to scream with or without the pimp. That particular hooker always screams. Anyway, maybe he didn’t see me. My windows are pretty dirty. I crawled back under the blanket and went to sleep.