So, I live in a nice neighborhood. It’s quiet. You see families and dogs and the kinds of things you’re supposed to see in a neighborhood. There’s a good mix of different races. We’re just renting, but I really like it. However, the house behind/across the street from us houses a drug dealer of some sort. We don’t really know what he does. But it’s definitely drug-related. There are piece-of-shit cars pulling up and leaving a few minutes later — at all hours of the night. Literally. I work nights and I smoke out on my deck, so I’ve seen them at midnight, two, four, six, whenever. Anyway, I’ll sometimes write about them on here, I suppose. So I should explain that my husband and I call this house “the Clown House,” because it’s literally impossible to tell how many people, children, and animals actually live there because of the high traffic in and out (referencing the traditional “Clown Car”). So. If I talk about the Clown House, that’s what it is. And this picture shows where it is in relation to us. We have a big, wide deck out back, and are up on a little hill compared to them. I guess it’s probably a good thing we are just renting.