An Eerie Stillness

Something very odd tonight on Monroe Avenue. There's not a person on the street right now. Not one. No one hanging out on steps, stoops, yards or on the sidewalks. No traffic between the three main drug houses. No neighbors -- the decent folks -- outside. Only traffic.

It's not the weather, which is pretty humid and balmy for this time of year. I wonder what's going on -- or about to happen.

The street took a major turn for the worse a few weeks back. Almost as though they sensed victory, the street people, drug lieutenants and crackheads became brazen. They didn't even pretend any more. They were who they were; this was their street now; deal with it. There was still no actual dealing outside, it went on indoors, but the folks on the street made no pretense of what they were there for.

Life's been unpleasant. Those of us who are the actual rentpayers and residents feel besieged, nervous about being outside. The female dealer, Tonya, openly shouts at her people out on the street and then yells at us for "snitching" and "spying." Fortunately, she got busted last week and has a court appearance next Monday, but for now she's not making any bones about her anger with the folks who don't kowtow to her.

The new guy downstairs is fully in the business with the guy behind me. He has traffic constantly coming in or going around to the back. They've taken to unscrewing their lightbulb outside to darken their doorway, but I always screw it back in, sometimes right in front of them. No words spoken. (Yeah, I know. I'm pushing it.) The day after Tonya got busted, he was busily cleaning out his apartment, washing everything down.

I have a window facing the alley that has a fan in it while the weather is sweet. That means I hear most of the idiots who pass through overngiht, shouting and arguing; the popped and tossed beer cans; or the cars and their bumping stereos. I'm used to it, somewhat, but the conversations of dopeheads just hanging out there is tiresome. Nothing is more boring than people with a drug habit, no purpose and nothing to do, trust me.

The ones who really irk me are the ones who pass across the yard or hang outside -- don't live here, just wanting crack -- and want to say "hi" to you, like it's all hail fellow well met. As though they have any right and reason to be there that's worth acknowledging, as though they are decent neighbors passing a friendly word.

So, after weeks of incessant domination by the forces of crack, why the sudden and eerie quietude tonight? Are they aware something's up with the police and are laying low? Is it just a random occurence? Or is it something else?

I wish I knew, so I could stop worrying.

Actually, I wish they all were dead and gone.