I strolled out of my apartment this afternoon on my way to work, and on the walk to the few stairs that I have to traverse to get to the parking lot....all 5 of them, there was a pool of semi-frozen blood about the size of a frisbee ( there was no grey matter, so I immediately ruled out my elderly neighbors taking a spill, whacking their melon). I tend to be a clutzy and get broken easily sort of guy. I immediately checked my appendages, looked for blood soaking through my clothes, dripping gashes in my arms, and checked to see if my junk was ok. The blood wasn't mine. That ladies and gentlemen, freaked me out....pool of blood near my door, it's semi-frozen...and the apartment maintenance guys didn't either A.) know about it, or B.) give a damn enough to clean it off the sidewalk. I hate to say it, but a part of me hopes that one of my neighbors did fall and injure themsleves, not mortally wounded, but dinged up a bit. It would let my mind rest from all the visions of a gangster stumbling around my complex looking for a place to bleed after a crack deal gone bad, a shooting, stabbing or brick throwing (It's happened, and it wasn't that so far in the past).
I'm thinking that time to move from my current living situation has just stepped up from needed, to imperative, bordering on immediate exedus.
Random blood is never a good thing, although I'd rather it be mine after a drunken evening than not know whom it belonged to, and outside my apartment. Me = Safe? Not feelin' it.