Sleeping with my head on the sidewalk of Washington Street gives me an all-access pass to sounds no one would otherwise hear. Sure, there’s a single pane window separating me from the outside, but I might as well have my head on the cold, hard pavement. It took a few weeks to figure out that the creeeek, crash, slam, chingchang, bam was the guy emptying the parking meters at the wee hours. Then one day there was another early morning sound that had me puzzled… “clomp-click, clomp-click, clomp-click”…moving inches by my window every minute or so (up the block, down the block). At the time I thought it was a lady streetwalker, but that only explained the “click” of a heal, not the “clomp” so I had to peek through the blinds to solve the mystery.

Well, it’s been a few months, but I heard the “clomp, click” again this morning and I searched my sleepy brain files and finally stumbled across the letter P. Filed under P…Polk Street Peg Leg. “Clomp, click, clomp, click”…

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