Neighborhood Watched

My neighborhood in B'more is very different from my neighborhood in B'ton.  For starters, it's much less posh.  This means that when I stumble out of my apartment for bread in sweats, I no longer find skinny girls in stilettos in the foyer, off to bellini brunch (mimosas are so middle class).  I no longer have a foyer.  There are students all over the place and the only people that obsess over their outfits are the arty college kids (there are as many art schools here as there were homeless shelters in the South End), with their moleskines tucked just so into the back pockets of their skinny jeans.  Wandering about the neighborhood on lazy Saturdays, unshowered and un-exercised, I fit right into the landscape.  That is, of course, until I run into someone.  And there I am, standing, with nowhere to hide, no crowd to slink into:  A newly purchased bag of chips in hand.  Hair unwashed.  No real schedule to keep.  That's the trouble with being a student and living in a student neighborhood.  There are hazards everywhere.  Though of course, I should just stop leaving the house unkempt.