This morning I offloaded on Northern Parkway and Glenoak, where I could see four houses for sale that were not for sale last year.

I walk up Glenoak through what is a shallow valley toward the ridgeline a quarter mile off. On the valley floor thee houses are for sale, and four have been recently fitted with security bars.

I Cross the side street connects with Liberty parkway a block over, where a young girl was tortured, raped, killed and burned post mortem by five neighborhood boys a year ago.

As I head up the 40 degree incline to the ridge across which Royston connects Glenoak and Sefton, I see four more for sale signs [all of them vacant], with one under contract and a vacant and one barred house. Just before the corner all but a of the four properties are abandoned.

As I cross Royston, I can look left down into the arm of the valley where the girl was murdered. I look right and see where Royston becomes an unlit, unpaved road. I have found many interesting things among the ground litter at this intersection including vials, cash, needles, pipes… the crows usually choose this vantage to gather in force after sunrise, and they were noisily present today.

I cross Glenmore, the secondary street between Royston Ridge and the Ridge across which White Avenue runs. To my left I see three for sale signs, to my right two.

As I descend into this next depression, the 150 yards of lush city street, supporting single homes and large yards, which one man uses to rebuild Mustangs, I notice two more houses for sale and three barred doors.

The grade uphill to White Avenue is only about 30 degrees and I zigzag over onto Sefton and Mary, where I am surprised to see two older white men discussing their home improvements. The one fellow has fenced his driveway, mounted a flag on his garage and has barred the doors and windows to his large white house with black bars. Dow Mary I see a for sale sign I either direction. Interestingly enough, on this short section of Sefton, which has no addresses on the right, where the man has made his driveway and house into a military compound, older black folks that live there have installed white security bars!

The second man is pointing to the house Charlotte had to give back to the bank as it is being remodeled for sale.

Most of the houses have not sold along this route, but a handful have.

A middle aged black woman walks by toward the bus stop, as to most blacks who live close to Belair Road and the #15 line, but walk twice as far to catch the #19 on Harford Road, which is getting worse, but is nothing like Belair Road. A young black woman dressed in white with bowties in her hair is screaming obscenities into her phone.

As I turn the corner onto White Avenue across from the halfway house, I turn to head toward Harford Road and notice that two houses are for sale in that direction.

Most people just cannot afford to move.

Some people cannot afford to stay.

Others fortify their homes.

Some cannot afford bars on their doors.

The drug war is being waged aggressively, my white neighbors being snatched off the sidewalks by cops and all of the dealers in between Walther and Harford being raided except for Binkie, who must know someone. Cops often roar down White and Glenmore, Harford and Walther, the two primary and two secondary streets that border this grid. At least once a week cops kick in a door. But, never is a cop car on patrol, deterring crime by his presence on the side streets. The police have utterly given up the preventative role and only pursue drug busts and major and answer emergency calls.

The shepherd has opened the gate to the sheep pen and invited the wolves to dine. I am expecting an interesting feast.