What Are We Doing in This Hand Basket, and Where are We Going?

Who is to blame when the neighborhood is full of drug addicts?
It was nice enough when I moved in. Of course, the previous tenant sold drugs, but she moved out and I moved in, so that was an improvement, wasn’t it?
Then Stupid’s boyfriend, Drunk, moved in. He had just got out of prison, so naturally he went to stay with his Honey.
Wanda was next. The pain became unbearable. So she took more pills. And still more pills. Is it her fault for taking so many? Or the doctor’s for prescribing them? Or does blame lie with the abusive husband who makes her life hell? Is it a genetic thing? After all, Wanda’s daughter is a crack whore.
Then finally, the drug dealers moved in. Oh it all started innocent enough, just one family renting a trailer. But gradually the children stopped coming home. The wife stopped coming home. Now only the man comes over in the dead of night to harvest the pot.
How can people be blind to this? My landlord must know. He can see no one is ever home. What does he think? Doesn’t he wonder why nothing ever breaks in that house?
Doesn’t the housing authority check up on things? They pay half the rent. Wouldn’t they require that the house actually be occupied?
Where is the police? Does America set itself up for a drug culture by being a free country? Would this problem even exist if the police regularly checked the houses? What if they could enter a home and poke though the dresser drawers? What then? Would we be free or jailed?
My boyfriend told me that I live in the Meth Capitol of the World. How can he see this on the news and I have no clue? Is it true? It is really a problem? Is it larger than one drug house, a wife-beating drunk, and one pill head?
What about the cars parked in the early morning hours before sun rise? Are the drivers innocent? Are the waiting to take someone to work? Who has to go in at 3am? What else could they possibly be doing in a trailer park before dawn? I can’t think of a single legitimate reason to sit in the car on a frosty morning with only a street lamp for company. I can’t think of anything worth getting up for to sit in the cold and the dark.
Is it somehow my fault? Am I asleep/blind to my environment? Am I supposed to be doing something? If so, why isn’t anyone listening to me?
I don’t have any answers, except be careful where you sleep, lest you awaken to the jostling of a hand basket.