I live in north San Mateo, just west of the Railroad tracks by one block.
Now some people get freaked out when they come to visit me. That’s especially true if they drive through the other side of the tracks to get here. They say things like, “Your neighborhood looks pretty hardcore. I hope I don’t get shot on the way out.” Really, they are freaked out that the neighborhood is almost entirely Latino and black. Of course, that wouldn’t be a very politically correct thing vocalize, so they don’t. Well ok, in fairness the bars on the windows across the street probably don’t calm their nerves.
I hardly ever see another white person. There are no other white people in the apartment complex. Below us is a Cantonese family that slams cupboard doors and watches loud television when they’re not yelling at each other. I hear them at two in the morning when I’m lying on my mattress. Or well, I hear them whenever I’m lying on my mattress. And when I walk by in the day they stare at me from behind partially closed blinds. It’s like they’re expecting me to pull down my pants and shit on the sidewalk. One of these days I just might.
Every once in a while I see another white person on my street, though. It doesn’t happen very often. I only see guys, not girls. There is one universal way they say to the world, “I’m white!” That way is a skateboard. They are almost always riding a skateboard and they almost always acknowledge me. One guy was skating past, barely saw me, and then turned his head to look backwards and nod. It was as if he was saying, Lo stranger, aw yeah you’re a white boy too. I wonder if he is also unemployed and living with his friend for free.
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