Agreed, needed editing though I fully sympathize with the people in the author's story. The drug shithole I used to live in after prison was crackheads screamin

Agreed, needed editing though I fully sympathize with the people in the author's story. The drug shithole I used to live in after prison was crackheads screaming for hours after blowing up pipes in their face when a rain drop hits it after they heat it up, crackheads getting robbed and fighting all night, shootings, constant ambulance and firetruck sirens for fentanyl ODs, my neighbours door being kicked in by a drug collector, or the sounds of an entire crew of garbagemen at 4am shoveling and scraping the street of needles, nothing but constant noise. Walking up in dead sleep to police banging their flashlight on your door asking if you want to be a witness to whatever drug murder happened while you were unconscious. The beautiful freedom when you move to the most remote part of a country and you can't hear a thing all night except a river rushing. Nobody screaming, nobody crying for hours on end, no arguements over petty bullshit. No pepper spray victims screaming no police blaring on their cruiser mic to clear the streets because they can't be bothered to exit the car, no fire alarms because your neighbor fell asleep while his crack burned away on the stove, no helicopters looking for somebody with a spotlight in your window.