Two doors away from us is The Drug Dealer’s House, a two-flat in which his parents and siblings live. When we first moved in, July 2001, I befriended Pete the Mailman who gave me the 411.
The drug dealer was newly released from a six-month jail sentence. He has a cute little girl, maybe five years old now. He has moved away since, but still drops off his daughter for the parents to take care of during the day.
When he lived here, he hung out on the front steps with friends, one of whom was an obnoxious cousin who plowed up and down the sidewalk (which you aren’t supposed to do if you’re over the age of 12) on his bike–never mind the pedestrians (read: me). Also, a number of people regularly double parked out front, doing a commando raid: in and out. What for, I wonder?
Nice.
