I was just about to post a comment over on Matt G's blog (by the way, I'll say right off the bat that every time I read the address bar over there I automatically respond, "And also with you") about how I haven't seen Mormon missionaries, except from a distance, in years.
I was going to say, "I don't think they come into this trailer park," but then I realized I'd have to explain the trailer park, and that's not the sort of thing you can really do in the comments area of someone else's blog.
It's true, though. They don't come into this trailer park. I know that because I saw some of them biking by as I was driving towards the street the other day, and I don't think it was my imagination that they pedaled a little faster to go by.
I can't blame 'em. If it wasn't for the fact that I live here, I'd never come into this trailer park either.
The trailer right next door to ours has black plastic over two different big roof holes. One front, one back, so at least it has a uniform sort of appearance. No one lives there anymore, but they left their pit bulls behind to guard it, or at least they did for a while. (I haven't heard any barking from them lately.) I stepped out my door last week to see a black female pit bull standing at the bottom of my stairs and growling; I'm pretty sure it was theirs.
Nor is she the trailer park's only pit bull. Not by far. There's some folks up near the front who have three or four, including one former fighting dog that was bulked up on steroids. When the male gets loose they have to go after him with a BB gun to get him back in the yard. It's joyous.
(And, of course, this doesn't even touch on the swamp that used to be our front yard...)
Random kid pic: