Is it possible that I could have killed my 85-year-old neighbor?

There is an old man that lives three doors down from me.  His name is Chuck, but my roommate calls him “The Drunk Old Man” because he is usually drunk and always old.

A couple of years ago Chuck fell down the stairs in our apartment complex because he was (a) over 80 (b) drunk and (c) carrying a 12-pack of beer so he couldn’t reach for the railing.  And the fall took a toll on him, and he stopped going out so often and stopped driving.

Well this past weekend I thought to myself as I was carrying my laundry down those same stairs, “I always thought that I would someday see the day when Chuck died, but since I’m moving I won’t be around when it happens.”

Or so I thought.

This morning Chuck fell down those stairs again–the paramedics had to give him CPR right there on the sidewalk in front of my apartment.  I don’t know if he’s okay.  Could I have selfishly willed him into dying just to fulfill another one of the items on my “things to do before you leave California” checklist?

There are more “Saying Goodbye” photos on my flickr page. I’m going to stop uploading them to so many places. Go there if you want to see my ugly mug posing with a bunch of people you probably don’t know.

I hung out with Julie on Sunday night.

She’s been an incredible friend that always showers me with love and I’m blessed to have met her back in my TPR days.

We ate at Pat & Oscars (freaking kick-ass breadsticks) and spent money at Barnes & Noble (why is there only one Noble when there are more than one Barnes??).

Julie will be missed.

In the coming days I’m going to post, in no particular order, things that I will miss when I leave Southern California.

My apartment is in the heart of what is known as Little Saigon;this area has the highest density of Vietnamese people outside of Vietnam.

I often joke about how I live between Pho 54 and Pho 55 (a lot of Vietnamese noodle shop owners do not name their restaurants they simply number their franchise).  I also joke about the names of some of my neighbors…one neighbor’s last name is “Ng” which I thought was an element.

Living in a place where you are surrounded by a culture other than your own is enlightening, entertaining, interesting, strange, and kinda cool to tell others.  I think that I will miss being known as the “white guy” in the apartment complex, or knowing that some good vegetarian Vietnamese food is just a small walk away.

It’s pouring this morning in Southern California.  And I love it.I fell asleep last night with the window open and woke up to the smell of wet concrete. 

I’ve been trying to collect photos with everyone before I leave mid-December. Here’s the first batch of photos: