First, it’s official: They’re GONE!!!

I didn’t quite realize how stressed I had been until it was over. I can stand outside my house without nervously glancing next door every few seconds. I don’t feel like I have to walk Myles to his friend’s house two doors down. I don’t come home to thumping music and raised voices emanating from a source two feet from my driveway.

That said, I can’t help feel bad for Juan. He spent most of the day there Saturday, hauling bags of trash out of the house and garage. He filled his conversion van once, and I think he can fill it a hundred times more. The shed and garage are still stuffed full of garbage and discarded furnishings, and I think the house is probably as bad.

He told Ed he had called the police to see if they could force the thugs to come back and get their stuff. Of course, the cops told him he was out of luck.

Ed could also see into the kitchen area when he was talking to Juan, and he saw that not only are the walls we could see upstairs covered with gang graffiti, it appears that much of the house has been similarly defaced.

I know this is partially Juan’s fault for his lack of discretion in choosing renters. He also should have known he could have kicked them out after two months of not paying rent.

I still feel horrible when I’m watching him hoist bag after bag of garbage into his van.

But not horrible enough to get out there and help him in below-zero weather.

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