I've come to the conclusion that we live in a $130/sq.ft. trailer park. I've taken great pains and take great pride in the work that I've done to my 1937 bungalow. It's 99% restored and looks the part. Unfortunately, there are a myriad of rental houses on our street that are owned by people who just don't give a shit what the houses look like, nor do they care who they rent them to.
The H.O., the management trainees and I just got back from dinner. The wiggers that moved in two doors down have a fucking compressor pulled out in the yard and have a clapped out low-rider truck up on jackstands, doing something to the rear end. They actually pulled an extension cord out to run a fan in an effort to keep them cool while performing the task(s) at hand. It reminds me of an old joke..., "How many dipshits does it take to fix a truck?"
Never have I wished for a truck to fall on people more...
Shortly after the spring bloom, a sign is going in the yard and we are outta here. Time to go to Forest Acres, where the people are old and have good sense.