Those apartments are within two miles of refineries. When I was a reporter, this complex, and the homes and businesses nearby, were the first - and sometimes ONLY - stop on a drug round up.
No good came out of here. Back in the day, when my dad first starting patrolling the streets, the area was called "The Cut." Why? Because if you went there, you would get cut - or worse.
As I notice there aren't people hanging out, and just about everything near there is boarded up, I ask what happened.
Dad: It's not the same place.I love that he doesn't ask if I want to stop. Come to think of it, I don't recall us actually coming to a full stop there. It's much better to take your chances of getting stopped (and really, who's gonna give HIM a ticket?).
Me: Can you still buy crack over here?
Dad: I'm sure you can if you need it.
We drove through the Port and saw the usual barges and stuff. And there were these big white thingies (technical term, folks). It turns out they're part of those ginormous windmills. Those in the S.A. area take note - this is what they look like before they're put on the big trucks to cruise our highways on the way to the big wind farms out west.
Mom got her cards, we left dad at work, and while heading home, we saw something I thought was hilarious: a dude with a bonsai stand on the street corner. My mom was trying to roll down the window to ask if he was Mr. Miyagi and she wanted to ask how big the trees will get. I wanted to ask if you can plant the trees in your front yard. My brother, the Ultimate Fun Hater (UFH from here on out), prevented us from doing that. Still, I managed to snap a picture.It's hot here - and super humid (duh). It's pretended like it's going to rain (thunder, lightning, dark clouds - but nothing). And I am hoping to get one good night's sleep this week. Perhaps, that won't happen until I return home.