Hanging in the Hood

I was raised in this neighbourhood that is considered to be the black sheep of my hometown for many years. Even though it's packed with junkies, weirdos, drug dealers, queer fish, street savvy lads, ex-cons and troublemakers of every kind, I always felt safe around here. Sometimes I even left my front door unlocked and didn't worry much about it. There are some seriously deranged old ladies arguing with drunk fishermen or calling the police because another old lady let his dog shit at their door. Sometimes it's the Russians who put their music too loud, or maybe it's the boys in their motorbikes who get even louder, and of course, the occasional family scandals once in a while, with children calling their mother a whore and the whole family getting into a fight that will wake you up at night. Many girls spend their days here doing drugs and having kids, or just asking their parents for more money to spend on dope. Cousins sleep with cousins. There are so many stray dogs that you'd lose count. Unhappy people hang themselves in the garage - it's been the most common suicide method ever reported in this shithole. My childhood was spent in this neighbourhood and nothing bad ever happened to me. This place is located between the old cemetery and the primary school. Kids used to find needles, condoms and pills under the fig trees. Eventually, the trees were all cut and now there's a crappy car parking that looks like Bagdad. Reality is depressing. But hey, at least the slums right next to the cemetery were demolished. However, I miss playing with the other kids in those filthy labyrinths and being happier than I am today.