One Story Below

A diaper, a condom and a child's fuzzy duck toy were strewn among the tangles of bittersweet growing in the alley between the tenements. The air was damp. The loud family was still asleep. By day the barrel-shaped father could usually be heard shouting at his five kids and occasionally they'd scream back. These poor children were locked inside with a giant TV and no air conditioning for the summer. They'd run around their apartment busting their arms and legs through the screen windows to connect with people outside.

Last night at dinnertime a drug dealer walked into the parking lot. He was directly one story below the loud family. The kids started poking their heads and hands out shouting to him Hey, who are you? Then as if on cue three six-year-olds rode over on their bikes and circled the drug dealer and his customer's car making weeeooo weeeooo siren sounds.