Neighborhood Nuts

I feel I may be in the eye of a brewing storm of mutinous crazies. Granted, I knowingly moved to Seattle's homeless hub. What can I say? I like to keep my finger on the pulse of the common Icehouse drinking man. But there was always a level of consistency, even comfort, in the neighborhood predictability. I was quickly able to differentiate between beer and bourbon brown baggers; between transient visitors and the permanently installed squatters (AKA the recurring characters in my imaginary homeless sitcom, tentatively titled "Capital Hill Kwazies!"). The neighborhood nutties, dubbed so as affectionately as possible, each had exclusive patterns. I could trace their routes with imaginary visual dashed lines, just like in 3 out of 4 godforsaken Family Circus cartoons. So why am I now spotting the stumbling Native American couple whole BLOCKS out of their territory?

Something seems awry. Corner regulars are shifting and verbal outburst patterns are changing. The crowd outside The Seattle Eagle Tavern has grown, and ventures a few feet more outside the unmarked mystery door. Panhandlers are altering previously cemented speeches, and not so cautiously increasing their whistling at least threefold. The night time incoherant yell/rambling is getting a lil' bit louder, a tad later, and notably more aggressive (the "C" word count is through the ROOF!). If there's such a thing as homeless political undercurrents, then shit be going down.

Mostly, I'm just curious to know what changed. What transformed previously non piss-in-public citizens to take the leap and convert to piss-in-publicdom? I guess I've just stayed stationary long enough to witness the homeless tides changing. It's a full moon only affecting the residence challanged.