A cabbie’s life, treacherous bike riding, RVs are some people’s heaven, the trolley at night, big rigs near Rosecrans, why we drive freeways, a bus driver’s day, and this skateboarder knows San Diego
Various Authors 4:09 p.m., May 27
I Live in North Pacific Beach on the edge of La Jolla. Whenever I share that with someone the inevitable response is, “Oh, that is a very nice area.”
But similar to the fictional Sunnydale, CA of the Buffy T.V. series there appears perhaps to be some more malevolent forces at work under the surface around here.
One night a few years back I awoke to what I can only describe as a “death scream”, apparently only yards from my place. Neighbors informed me that two co-workers went out parting after working late, got in a disagreement and one stabbed the other. The injured party stumbled down to the beach and died on the parking lot there. The next day you could follow the blood trail to the beach. The police had circled each drop.
More recently I was flipping channels when I saw the apartments, right behind me on a national T.V. show. It was one of those “real mystery” programs. It appears some time ago a young woman lured a guy out of those apartments, led him him out to the sticks, where she had him killed and then set on fire.
A few years ago I walked down to the local surf park but was prevented from entering the parking lot by the SDPD. Apparently in the wee hours of the morning a guy had been stabbed twenty something times and had been shot a few more just to make sure. He died in the bathroom, I was told.
Another day a jeep turned up on Agate Street, which is right behind me, where a crowd of party-goers had spilled out into the street. The crowds surrounded the jeep. One guy climbed up on the hood and the driver feeling threatened, speed off. The guy on the hood was thrown off and died.
One beautiful morning, coffee in hand and I walked down to the corner and looked up the hill toward La Jolla. There was a police car pulled over with lights flashing, on the ground i could see a body with a tarp over it. I asked a passerby about what was going on and he replied, “Somebody go killed.” I had that much already figured out.
Could I share more? Yes. Should I continue? I don’t think its necessary. There is a famous line from Bob Dylan, “There is something going one here and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones.” Do I truly believe there are malevolent forces moving around here? Perhaps. Am I afraid to walk around here at night? No, why should I. I live in a really nice area, everybody tells me so.