Life in the ghetto, or, Why is there bread in the driveway?

For two years, we lived in a block of flats tucked into one of the busiest streets in our suburb. For a time there, it was nice living here. The flats all desperately needed work done to them, but the neighbours were nice people, and we all got along, helping each other out and spending time together after work.

The blissful bubble was short-lived, however, as rent went up, many of those people were forced out, and new people came in – people so desperate for a place to live that they paid the higher rent. Nobody else would approve their rental applications.

Soon driveway cricket summer became “pretend we’re not home” winter, where you’d refuse to answer the door unless someone used the secret knock.

The junkies upstairs spent time with the junkies across the driveway, alternating between friends and enemies, depending on the drug supply. The shouts and cries of domestic disputes seeped through cracks in windows and holes punched through bedroom doors.

It got much worse after we left, with the SWAT team coming in and molotov cocktails being thrown through windows. Today though, there’s just some confused bread laying in the driveway.

Clearly, there are no ducks here. Nothing lives here by choice and aint nobody gonna fuck with a duck if it wants to leave… no, the bread is just another example of the bogan attitude that is the way of life in the ghetto; once something lands on a communal area within the bogan realm, it must either decompose on its own, get blown against the fence by the wind, or be broken down by wild animals, otherwise it remains there for all eternity (or until the landlord sends the cleaning man around to remove the shopping trolleys, broken doors, couches and mattresses).

Coming back here to visit a friend has been great. Nowadays, the flats are filled with schizophrenics going through sexual identity crises and an incest brother-sister-couple. The police have done a couple of patrols (we just assume the flats have been added to their beat) but nobody has been hurt or had anything stolen, so all in all, it seems to have been a successful stay.




5 thoughts on “Life in the ghetto, or, Why is there bread in the driveway?

  1. Sounds like a depressing place to live and a good reminder that many people live that way. No smell of cut grass, no place you can really call your own. Bruce

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