Twenty years ago, I had a friend who lived two doors away from this death place. I'm sure when I visited, I had seen the door open, maybe filled with dust or the glint of power tools. The layout of most streets in Chicago is that an alley runs between separate blocks. So we would often play in the alley, soccer, Frisbee, whatever. I miss alleys because there are none in Burbank, but maybe it's a good thing, since alleys are more insidious now. A place for a lawnmower, an AM/FM radio tuned to the White Sox game, a sprinkler with a daisy in the center, smiling away.
Turned into a killing ground.
