in my neighborhood. Last week, there were three break-ins on my street and one street over. And two nights ago, my next-door-neighbor's house was hit by intruders. Lucky for him, his alarm went off and the robbers vanished.
So what has happened to my nice little neighborhood? About four houses were on my street when I moved into this little sub-division in 2003. That makes 10 years of living in a tranquil, well-maintained neighborhood. Residents here are just regular people, mainly blue-collar workers, salt of the earth, with some households where both the husband and wife are working. I joked when I moved in, "This looks like Bubba Drive." Pickups were parked in driveways, of if not a pickup, then a big ol' honkin' SUV with a passel of kids in the back. Neighbors introduced themselves while out mowing the grass, washing their cars or ferrying kids to school and themselves to work.
Now, the "work" portion of our neighborhood changed recently. Oh, say, around 2-3 years ago. Many of the people in my subdivision were employed by a big government contractor. We all know how risky that employment can be. Sure enough, many workers were laid off. The economy tanked, and spouses also lost jobs. Bankrupt, many neighbors moved and either sold their houses or resorted to renting them out. As I drive down my street, I notice many vacant houses. Don't ask me how I know they are vacant; I just know. The house has a forlorn look to its facade; windows are shuttered and the once neatly trimmed yard has lost its green color to the simmering Texas heat.
Why not move? I hear you asking. Because I'm not going to be run out of my home of ten years just because some punks want whatever they think I have. I'm an old lady, but I'm tough. My son lives with me, and he's even tougher. And between the two of us, we have a big ol' shotgun.
If they start trying to kick the door in, they're dead where they stand. We'll just be sure to drag the sorry bastard's body inside the house before we call 911.