I like to help the homeless. I give money to homeless shelters, chuck a few coins into the salvation army coffers when they let their army lose on NYC during the Christmas holiday season, and sometimes buy them a sandwich or a cup of coffee if they claim to be hungry (I won't give them money directly). I draw the line at their sleeping in my apartment stairway, however.
Yes, the police were here again and this time they left with the staggering drunk who had passed out in our building in tow.
Because, you see, the security door is not fixed even yet. To make matters better, the outermost door doesn't shut all the way so anyone can open it. Best of all, the doorhandle on the outside of the outermost door has fallen off. Lack of a doorhandle obviously did not deter the drunk from figuring out how to pry it open. I, however, have had quite some difficulty getting it to open and I have a key. Perhaps it is like a childproof bottle --you know, the ones children can open with ease and adults are completely confounded.
Up until now, things have been relatively quiet since the break-in in January but boy, people are sure making up for lost time.