Just a few minutes ago I heard a loud <POP!> outside my window. People in the building across the street were leaning out of their windows to see what had happened. It took me a minute to see that directly underneath my window was a short white dude with strawberry-blonde dreads stumbling along the Jones Street curb.

After weaving about and taking out and putting away items in his many-pocketed beige puffy jacket, he was gently shooed away by my infinitely patient building manager and ambled toward Sutter. I talked with my manager and turns out the hippie had dropped a small tube of gas which he was using as an inhalant. I was a bit concerned since our building has a lot of young children in it and I don’t want them to be endangered by substance-addled adults wandering outside, but my manager assured me that addicts don’t often come to our building. His advice was that if I see one, to simply tell them they can’t “do that stuff” here and they’ll find someplace else to do it.