I Thought Someone Would At Least Bring Cookies

It was because of neon pink flyer in our mailbox that Mark and I found ourselves in a stranger’s garage, underneath a metal sign that said “Marine Parking Here, All Others Towed,” sandwiched between an elderly man with hearing aids and a middle-aged guy sporting a dirty fishing cap that pictured a mosquito underneath the words “Bite Me.”

The scenario: a rental house at the end of our block is suspected of being used for drug trafficking, and the shooting last week (accidental, apparently, but still) prompted the neighborhood watch to call an emergency meeting with the Crime Prevention specialist from our precinct. It was just like CSI I tell you, albeit without any evidence. Also unlike CSI, nothing got solved in an hour, and now I’m scared to death to have Daniel and Erik’s backyard barbeque here next month for fear of a rash of 911 calls concerned about unfamiliar vehicles parked on the block.