I watched with interest this morning as a tow truck drove off with my neighbor’s brand new Jaguar. His car had been repossessed, and there was quite a scene this morning as he protested with the tow truck driver that he had made his payment. He even went so far as to get in the car and lock the doors. The tow truck driver just casually proceeded to hook up the car and was going to carry it off with him in it.
I’ve noticed, too, that his drug trafficking has tapered off drastically. The cops now drive by and watch constantly. The front yard had become a muddy quagmire from all the cars and trucks pulling in day and night. That has stopped. It is oddly quiet over there now.
“Oh, he is just getting lots of pussy,” dad said again optimistically last night. “You’re just being paranoid. Remember! You’re schizophrenic!”
“There is no such thing as the pussy police in this town,” I replied. “And the cops drive by constantly.”
Well, my drug dealing neighbor has now fallen on hard times. It’s the Grapes of Wrath of drug trafficking. I watched this afternoon as he had to walk down to the convenience store to pick up a twelve pack of beer and some cigarettes. Oh, how the once mighty have fallen. I am trying not to gloat, but all that shit next door worried the hell out of me. It played into my paranoid schizophrenic nature – thinking my car would get stolen again by an addict and you can never trust a crackhead.