Oh...Who Are the People in Your Neighborhood in Your Neighborhood, in Your Neighborhooooood?

I don't know the name of the people who share a back porch with me. Even though we speak regularly and they have offered the use of their grill if the occasion arises. I feel badly about this sometimes. And then I'm reminded WHY I don't any of know my neighbors' names:

Last night, after exiting a cab and carrying an assload of groceries, I happened upon a "neighbor" lounging on a camping chair in our courtyard situation. By "courtyard", I mean a long stretch of road that is only accessible by foot and bicycle and police vehicle that stretches from my street all the way down to Broadway. Some call these roads "Malls". Anyhoo, while pretty, it is a recipe for the following.
So, I see this guy lounging, eating some crackers, drinking some soda. It was a lovely evening, and feeling uncharacteristically neighborly, I said. passing by, "You look very comfortable". How NICE! And then he answered.
"Yeah, well, I'm dead as of tonight, lady. (incoherent mumbling) For 200 bucks."
More mumbling made more incoherent by MY internal response as I quickened my pace "Whoops...Sorry, didn't realize you were one of the hundreds of fucking CRAZY people living on my street."