Wilma had just moved house. She moved into an old house on a dead-end street; a sort of cul-de-sac with a turnaround area at one end.
Counting Wilma’s there were four occupied houses on the street and one unoccupied. There were three empty sections without buildings. These were unkempt. They were overgrown; not that some of the occupied houses weren’t overgrown as well. Pride in ones abode was not a strong characteristic of this little cul-de-sac.
A few weeks after arriving on the street, Wilma thought she would organize a function. She put an invitation through the mail slot of each front door. A cup of tea or coffee and a nibble or two!
No one came from the drug den. No one came from the brothel. No one came from the gang headquarters. Ms Heffernan came, and she was roaring drunk. Someone else came on their own; a young chap. Wilma wasn’t sure which house he belonged to. Not to worry; he was someone to talk to. He was very pleasant, and asked Wilma all sorts of questions about the house she had just moved into and the place from where she had lived previously. In fact he was so pleasant and interested that Wilma showed him around her new home.
The following Wednesday Wilma returned home from grocery shopping and her whole place had been stripped bare. Not a vestige of a possession remained.
No one on the street knew a thing, not even the nice young man she had kindly shown around the house.