Boom=Bust

My parents live on a cul-de-sac (or, en anglais, a bag-end) and several years ago a developer bought this treed chunk of land behind the houses across the street. Dude paved a bridge over the creek and a road down there and then parceled the land up into tiny little plots and asked a whole bunch of money for them, which, unsurprisingly, has lead this little extra cul-de-sac off the cul-de-sac hidden in a happy little copse of trees to remain totally uninhabited.

Uninhabited except for the kids from the high school next door who go down there to smoke and the drug dealers who go down there sell fruit. Man, drug dealers, can't you lay low a little? Do you have to be so obvious about being drug dealers in every ounce of your being? No wonder you keep getting busted; speeding up a cul-de-sac to a deserted lane in a giant black shiny SUV with tinted windows at 11:30 at night. Hmmm, what's that about?

A couple days ago, someone put a big ol' metal gate across the entrance to the extra, uninhabited cul-de-sac. It's made of grey, galvanized metal and has a few small sections of yellowish tape on it. In short, very hard to see. Especially if you are going a good 60 clicks and taking the sharp, blind, right hand turn at an equivilantly high speed.

So I sit at my desk in my room across the street, waiting for the inevitable crash of black shiny dealer SUV on metal gate as the coke folk realise that their office in Sinclair Court may now be closed.