The wrong side of the tracks

From our living room window on the sixth floor, the windswept sky, a municipal sanitation warehouse and a freight train station take up most of our view. A long nondescript building which I assume functions as train storage or for fixing old trains, runs right to left and seems to divide the multiple lines of rail into two halves. At night, when the fog rolls in and the dim streetlights puncture the dark, we can sometimes see a pair of headlights raking the streets, someone undoubtedly in search of the type of female company that's for sale. Not far from the train tracks is a settlement of people who live on the streets, called in French, SDF (sans domicile-fixe). Many of these SDF, generally the ones who choose to live rough, have large scary dogs who look hungry enough to eat you if you pass too closely. It's said the SDF keep these dogs to deter police arrest, on account of a law stating a dog must be caught and cared for if its owner is arrested. I generally don't have an opinion about the homeless keeping dogs, except when I step in what they so generously leave behind on the pavements.

People tell me this town isn't what it used to be, that it's seen much better days and no one seems to care about it anymore. Now it is a haven for the SDF and other not-so-desirables. To me, it still has a beauty and a history asking to be explored...