Monday, June 15, 2009

Just like a Norman Rockwell painting, only not.

My place was built in 1882. Sometimes I'm amazed at all that must've gone on in this house. Even though I know that I live in a neighborhood that is an "up and coming" one, I still like to think of all the families and people that grew up here. I liked to think of all the babies that learned how to walk and of all the dreams that were achieved in this place. It has history. It has character.

I recently met a neighbor who said that her whole family has lived here all their lives. She started to tell me about what she remembers about the neighborhood and I settled in for a great story.

What she said was that she remembers when the neighborhood that I live in was so bad that they wouldn't deliver pizzas after dark. Umm...alright. Not exactly what I pictured, but hey, it's an old Italian neighborhood. I reasoned that OF COURSE they mugged the pizza guys. They probably were so offended that the inhabitants didn't make their own, that they HAD to beat them up. So really, it wasn't as much of a thug neighborhood as it was that people really cared about good Italian food. Right?

She then followed that with, "Yeah, up until 10 years ago, your place used to be a crack house."


Turns out that my place does have history.

It's just that it also has connections to the Mob and perhaps an incurable case of VD.

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