Okay, I suppose that some readers are thinking that this bar was a den of drugs and that the dirty, sweaty guys with thick-soled boots were all dealers, the sort of thing Hollywood likes to dream. These guys got dirty putting up sheet-rock or framing or plumbing or roofing or digging postholes or fixing engines. They are actually the buyers of certain drugs, like alcohol, nicotine, caffeine, and marijuana. There is a dealer living in the park, however, no surprise, under the remote supervision of the cops. I m not making this up.
Residents joke about it.
One resident, a tax-payer, by the way, and a good friend of mine, was shot by the cops for joking about it. Indeed, I will slink out the back door when the pool cues start flying, but I never feel like I am in danger of being robbed at home or mugged in the parking lot. Some I have known as patients in the hospital. One of the first new friends I made was a gentleman who looks exactly like Santa Claus except for the tattoos on his arms. He is, in fact, a retired machinist and a Hell s Angel.