The other night Brent and I were watching the News. The story was about a murder, but honestly I wasn't listening. Until I said, hey thats the bathroom at our old park! Then all of a sudden I realized there was a murder about 10 feet away from the playground that my son played with his friends every day during the summer. The park that was a fifth of a mile away from our house. As Brent and I talked about it, he said, and that would be the reason we moved.
One night while we lived there we thought we heard someone breaking in and the house pretty much always freaked us out after that. But I'm sure the occasional homeless person wandering the street contributed to that unsafe feeling. Or the panhandlers at the grocery store. Or when our neighbor left her house for 15 minutes and she came back to her broken off door and all the electronics in her house were gone. Yeah, the neighborhood wasn't safe, and I'm glad we moved.