Along the western part of Gilmore, near the intersection of Columbus, a homeowner posted a sign. She is sick of picking up used condoms from her driveway. “We don’t live in a Third World country!” she exclaims.
Only a block from my own home, this seems like a totally different universe. Each house is locked behind huge iron gates, protected by Pit Bulls and Rottweilers. Our street has large Oak trees. Gilmore has no trees.
During the day, junk trucks are parked here. Other decorative touches: shopping baskets, barking dogs, yards filled with weeds and trash.
The liberal in me wishes that we could all just get along. That “someone” in government would inspect this street and proclaim some law making it civil and pleasant.
The conservative in me observes that the owners of these homes do not care enough to band together to plant trees, or fight blight. So blight finds them.
Isn’t it strange how things work?