The last apartment I lived in in San Francisco overlooked an alley where crackheads would yell at each other and, for a brief couple of days, play the harmonica. It almost made it Steinbeck-y, with the harmonica, until the drugged-out profanity-laced yelling wars took over and the guy with the harmonica left.
I miss the city a lot. I do.
But this isn't so bad.