Welcome to the wasted ghettos of the south

Last night I was awakened by someone standing in the field outside my window, yelling at the night sky "Why won't you let me die. Kill me already." and occasionally just screaming. It was all very loud, and rather disturbing. It reminded me that for all my street-savvy-ness and I-can-handle-anything-attitude, I'm still just a suburbanite. Strange things scare me. The illusion of threat is enough to make me cower and hide, want to check that I did remember to lock the back door, just in case I'm the target of random violence. It took me a few minutees to talk myself through the fact that with what he was yelling, I was probably far more likely to be a witness to a suicide than a victim of manslaughter, and probably he was just a teenager out having a bad trip the night he found his girlfriend having sex with some guy from school. I thought about going outside and talking to him, but as I moved to get my pants, I heard someone else talking outside. A neighbor from the other side of the boulevard had heard him aswell and was talking to him. They had a brief exchange, which I couldn't hear, then both of them left. A fine ending to the anti-climax that is suburbia.