There's dirty houses, buildings, streets, and neighbourhoods, but nothing beats a good dirty alley.
I don't have a whole list of streets in town to avoid, but like most towns, there's always a back alley with a discarded pair of underwear, a single shoe, and a bunch of random bottles, dead dry, of course.
I literally hang out in one back alley on a regular basis, having been prohibited to loiter (ie: smoke) in either the front or side of the building of where I work. Because I've got brief moments to spend my precious minutes of a break and I usually need both a coffee fix, and time for a phone call of my own or two, I often stand against the back wall of the building, looking to the back of bar, restaraunt, and nearby POINTS establishment while puffing away on a cancer stick. It's not my preferred choice to be on a near daily basis, but until I get my own private office where I make the rules and break 'em, I'm sure I'll spend a lot more time there in the future as well.
In this alley as well, I've seen discarded underwear, bottles, and many people who happen to drop by to hunt for discarded cigarettes. Reduce, reuse, recycle indeed.
I've also seen a lot of guys drop it to pee against the building, neverminding onlookers like me, too drunk from spending too much time at money at the bar across the road. They get mad when you flick your still burning cigarette at them without apology.
I've seen fights between co-workers in that alley, heard of (pathetic) hook-ups that happen in that alley, and have overheard a million forgettable conversations in that alley. The sad thing is, I sometimes dream about being in that alley. Fuck. There's no such thing as contolling a dream, or I'd avoid it if given an option.
I know you're wondering if there's a point, and sadly, there isn't. Just wanted to write about alleys today, okay?