My Ghetto

Well, it's official.  I live in the ghetto.  One could easily be confused by the fairly nice houses and the gates that protect our housing complex from the outside world.  Further investigation, however, reveals the truth.  Within the walls of our own complex, we live in the "good corner."  Park across the complex and it gets rather seedy.  Outside our walls, directly across from my bedroom window, is a 7-Eleven and an out of business liquor store.  However convenient it is having a 7-Eleven right across the street, it's doubtful that a neighborhood has ever been improved by one.  The view out of my bedroom is that very 7-Eleven, and right behind that, the freeway.  So far, these things are easy to explain, and by themselves do not qualify my residence as ghetto.  But today, as I was walking back from parking over at the seedy side of the complex, I saw a stolen shopping cart outside a garage.  While usually the homeless grown-up's equivalent of a child's Radio Flyer Wagon, this was empty, and apparently not currently being used.  One could argue that in a complex of town homes without front yards, that this is our equivalent of the broken down car up on blocks.  This was the first, and hopefully last sighting of the shopping cart, but rest assured, if there starts to be a small collection of such items, there will be an update right here.