So.

Apparently the commotion outside that woke us up last weekend at 3/2 a.m. was the sound of two hipsterboys who live across the street at the hipsterloft getting pummeled by a group of five neighborhood thugs. And the person we heard yelling that they had called the cops was one of our upstairs neighbors. And he had indeed called the cops, and he tells me they showed up eventually, but I certainly don't remember any lights or sirens during the two-plus hours afterward in which I was awake because I was too scared to fall back to sleep.

I guess this sort of thing is the risk we face by living in an "up and coming" neighborhood. The nice thing is, Mike and I have made a real effort to meet our neighbors, or at least to greet them with a hello as we come and go. And we've had actual conversations with a few of them. Which is good, because now those people know that (a) we're not some snobby rich kids who've gone slumming and (b) they'll watch our backs.

But still. This whole thing does not make me feel particularly comfortable. The reality is, I "blend" a little more in our largely hispanic neighborhood than my sweetie does. He can certainly take care of himself, but I worry that he'll be a target.