I am angry, saddened and helpless.
In every city, from the largest metropolis to the smallest farming town, there are bad neighbourhoods. It's unavoidable. In Toronto, you can be in a beautiful, family neighbourhood and walk one street over and be in the middle of Cracktown. That's just the way it is.
The issue lies in lack of distinction between the two. It's easy for all to co-exist when we know the areas to avoid, and places to keep our children and loved ones out of. So what happens when it changes without our knowledge?
I live in a great neighbourhood, on a great street. I am surrounded by parks and trees and artists and musicians and different races, ages, and creeds. Most importantly, I'm surrounded by young families with children.
That is why I am outraged about the new crackhouse just up the street from me. On any given evening, the drug-addicted customers can be seen loitering out front, waiting for their next fix. All while the young, impressionable and bright children in the neighbouring houses are out on their bikes, walking their dogs, or skipping off to a gymnastics class.
It makes me physically ill.
I understand that these people have problems and need help, and the crack dealer is just trying to make a buck. Fine. But do your business in your own goddamn neighbourhood and leave the good people in mine alone.