The crack shoes showed up a week ago, their nylon sheen glinting as they carelessly twirled. The nice officer told me that their being an indicator of drug activity is an urban legend, but I'd like to see him laugh it off if they appeared on HIS corner.
Then on Sunday I woke to find the back gate bell slashed from the latch.
Aaand I'm back to taking a kitchen knife when I go down to the basement to do laundry. At least Rye taught me how to hold it blade forward/upward (i.e., the opposite of how they do it in horror movies).
These are the people in your neighborhood
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The devil you know.