“Hey Jack!” I was steps away from my building’s front door when I heard my name. It took me a minute to trace the voice. It was Saturday night and the Tenderloin was at full volume. The street was clogged with cars honking at each other and the bums who wandered into the road. A cerveza brigade sat on a stoop a few doors down, swigging Modelos and chattering at each other in rapid-fire Spanish. Music blared from the bars, sounds of lovers’ quarrels drifted out low windows, and over at the corner market, the clerk was berating the storefront
Window of Opportunity
