I am standing around just hanging out on the sidewalk when it happens. This is a common enough posture in the neighborhood. The people take advantage of the outdoors, staying inside only if they have to. But in weather as nice as this day's: there are sidewalks to stand on, walls to lean against, stoops to sit on. Small patches of grass. Little porches and balconies are the rule.

Though in the heart of an urban area, ours is a short side street and purely residential. There is a charming and unassuming mixture of housing, of a character built on a friendly, human scale. Small detached bungalows and cottages, a sprinkling of four-flats. There are taller buildings rising three, four or five floors, but they generally consist of a central entry flanked by an apartment on either side, the stairwell between leading to the upper levels. On the far side of the street down towards the corner there are several large apartment blocks. Though they rise eight or ten stories they are not too far off the local scale. They are solid structures dating back to the age of ornamentation. Their quarters are undoubtedly smaller but they are not lacking in charm, bright with windows, each apartment enhanced by a private balcony or two.

What happens is that a van comes trundling down our street spilling music from loudspeakers mounted on its top. It slows to the curb and stops. At first glance I think it's an ice cream truck. But it's not. It's a van, not a truck. The back doors fly open and a brigade of people jump out. They wear an identical white uniform of casual clothes. They're all young and happy, sprinting along, springing about, jumping and dancing and shouting and laughing. They swarm our street bearing leaflets. It might be the promotion of a rock radio station. Or the campaign of a populist politician. But when I stare hard and squint, I can read the truth on the side of the van. This is an unusual effort by a home renovation contractor to drum up new business. We are being invited to a 10% discount on seamless aluminum gutters. If we buy four double-glazed replacement windows, we get the fifth free. It is a world of potential delights largely lost on this street. The enthusiasm of the invaders is so boundless that there are free flyers for the four-flats and smaller buildings. But they pointedly do not bother entering the big blocks.

Up there I notice faces gathering at the windows, a body or two more on the balconies. They seem to wonder what all the excitement down on the street is about. Their looks turn sour when they see that they're being ignored, that they're being left out of the festivities.

"Don't worry!" I call up to them, "it's nothing. You're lucky not to be getting the garbage. They're just leafleting for a building contractor. Vinyl siding, that sort of thing."

Curiously this news makes them angrier, they take it as an affront. A deliberate provocation, as though the whole purpose is to point out that they are doomed to live their lives in their shitty little apartments. That they will die never knowing the need of a redwood deck. They crowd their balconies, straining the supports, and hang out their windows, warping the frames. Their disgruntlement combines into a loud grumble that starts low then grows higher in pitch as the flame of insult catches and spreads into a roaring fire of rage. Their mouths are twisted into big black holes as their fists punch holes in the air.

The first bottle makes its statement, shattering in the middle of the street. The van is not the target, having already departed with its merry crew, gone to spread their cheer in the next appointed neighborhood. Indeed, the breaking glass is a directionless expression, a show of emotion. But the first bottle begets the next, the next ten, and the hundreds and thousands that follow. Do these people have nothing in their homes but empty bottles? Somewhere in the shower the thrust switches. They are bottling up their victimization and are spreading it elsewhere, on other people. Those of us on the street are running for our lives, lives which are not significantly better than or materially superior to those above. The air turns amber with the crashing downpour.

It is all so senseless and stupid, and the peace on our street will be forever ruined by the misunderstanding.