Most communities surrounding the base of South Mountain were built around the 1950’s with alleys running behind the homes. So as the early morning sun began to heat the dry Arizona air, Juan had to push through the wooden gate to the alley to take out his trash.
From out of nowhere, a strange man lurched toward him.
“Hey!” Juan reeled back a step, wildly flailing his plastic garbage bag.
The stranger staggered back. He was younger than Juan, in his late 20s or maybe early 30s. It was hard to tell because he was so disheveled. Stained jeans, unkempt hair. He had a sparse tuft of beard and mustache and looked like he hadn't washed in weeks. His jacket seemed too heavy for the warmth of the dawning day. He’s been sleeping back here.
“Hey!” Juan repeated, this time in anger. “What are you doing out here?”
“Que tal, hombre?” To his horror, Juan realized there were several more men nearby. One of the younger ones had asked him “What’s up, man?” in a challenging tone. Juan could barely understand the man’s thick accent. They’re not Mexicans.
Juan now noticed the empty tequila bottles and the smell of stale urine. “You need to get out of here!” He stomped forward, feeling foolish as he put his sack of trash in the garbage can. “People are trying to live here. You need to go drink somewhere else!” He slammed the steel lid down for emphasis.
“This is public property,” a grizzled old tramp replied from where he sat. "You can't make us leave."
Juan was outnumbered and knew he was in a potentially dangerous situation. But he could do nothing about it now but stand his ground. With a long string of curses, he moved aggressively towards the group of homeless men, shouting for them to leave. His gambit worked, and with a few curses and threats of their own, the vagrants drifted off down to the alleyway.
“You ok, Dad? What’s going on?” Juan’s son Carlos burst through the wooden gate. He was wearing sweatpants and flip flops, and a USMC T-shirt that looked one size too small, probably to show off his newly acquired muscular physique. "I heard yelling and came as fast as I could."
“Ah, it’s nothing.” Juan tried to sound dismissive, but his heart still raced, and his hands trembled slightly. “Just a bunch of bums.”
Carlos surveyed the scene, “Were they sleeping out here?”
Juan didn't reply. The answer was obvious.
"We need to call the cops," Carlos said.
“Why?” Juan snapped. “The cops ain’t gonna do nothing.”
Carlos shook his head. “We need to call them, Dad. This isn’t right.”
“It seems like this gets worse every year,” Juan opened the gate and guided Carlos back into their yard.
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