Tonight I walked over to the corner store to pick up a six pack. As I head south the hill slopes downward and I see two blocks down from my place. A couple of cop cars descended on a location I commonly assume drug activity is going down all day long. Good to see the cops are all over it. The bums are all nestled in bed, some with empty beer bottles barely held in hand. As I enter the convenience store a lady complains about the price of something, claiming in another neighborhood six blocks away the $10 item is sold for $1. The store owner laughs and says “cool, I’ll call them and ask how they stay in business!”. This is why I choose this place, the owner is no bull shit. Also he’s not charging much for beer. A six pack of Firestone DBA is $7, which for a craft beer is pretty average. What this lady was bitching about is pure silliness. Regardless of her or the prices, the owner has a bigger issue. The bums come in and mix the beers around in the six packs, and often times I see four beers in a pack. Poor guy. But guess this is just one sign that you know you’re in the ghetto.

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