The house across the street has been particularly busy this week. I’m pretty sure it’s a crack house, but I could be wrong. We keep to ourselves, mostly, and I honestly don’t think living in this neighbourhood is as bad as most people say it is. The night we moved in, I foolishly parked my car on the street instead of in the driveway or garage, and it was egged. Most houses don’t have driveways (much less garages) here, so a lot of cars on the street are prone to people walking by with markers or pieces of fence (!) or keys, and dragging them randomly across vehicles.
I had a security system installed soon after I moved in, with stickers on every window and a sign on a post in the backyard, warning others that there is, in fact, an alarm. Then someone stole the sign. Then the post. 
One thing I like about living here is that I don’t need to try to keep up with the Joneses.. so to speak. I can stand outside barefoot with a baby on my hip. I can leave garbage bags on the back step until I make my way to the dumpster out back, I don’t need to grow flowers or fertilize or even water my grass. And if I only mow the lawn every 10 days, I still have the nicest lot on the block. I locked myself out of the house once, and approached the front door with a crowbar. (Well, what would YOU do?) One car slowed down, but did nothing.
Oh, and things like this crack me up.
This was sitting in the middle of the road — ever-so-randomly — one afternoon. I took a picture, and it was gone a few minutes later. So, someone either realized they’d dropped it from the back of a vehicle and went to retrieve it, or someone else stole it and got a new-to-them mattress. (The dumpster is also a great place to dispose of recyclables and semi-useful things without having to make a trip to either a recycling plant or the actual dump. It eventually gets picked up by someone who needs it more than I do.)
