It's a mural on the side of the Revolution Cafe, at 22nd and Bartlett Street, approximately 32 steps from my current residence, in San Francisco's Mission district.
It's also my war cry. I'm about to call upon the spirit of this neighborhood -- the bohemians and the intellectuals and the activists...
To get the freaks off my porch.
Seriously. I know there are some people living in this neighborhood cooking up some pretty grand schemes for how to save this country and the world. They spout some pretty grand rhetoric about what's wrong with us all and what we should feel bad about and what we need to do differently.
How about we start with our own damn 'hood?
Since I moved to San Francisco, every time I tell people I'm from Detroit, I get the "I'm sorry" response.
Really? Why?
I can honestly say that in ALL the time I lived in Detroit, my car never got broken into.
I can honestly say that in ALL the time I lived in Detroit, I never found a creepy dude MASTURBATING ON MY FRONT PORCH.
I can honestly say that in ALL the time I lived in Detroit, I was never attacked by a drunk, creepy dude lurking in my driveway when I went out to buy soup at 7:30 on a Thursday, while 50 people were seated 32 steps away from me on the sidewalk at the Revolution Cafe, talking about how to make the world a better place.
Wake up, San Francisco. Like Michael Jackson said, "I'm starting with the man in the mirror."
Ow!
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