Saturday, noon. Thespia and Pippa are having a Mom and Daughter day - lazing around in their sleep togs, munching on strawberries and toast, reading and thinking about what videos they might want to see and whether Pippa just has to run Across the World one more time. And there's this sound from the street. Gunfire? Well, yeah. Drug house around the corner, disputes heat up since everybody's packing. Somebody's car takes multiple wounds. Cops and yellow tape all over the place, there being little else to do in the middle of a Spring Saturday.
"Daddy, we live in a crime scene!" Pippa says, as she makes the Sunday morning transfer. D'weez is electrified: must get daughter out of neighborhood, must sell house. Well, he's been wanting to sell the house ever since he moved out of it and here's a perfect reason. But then there's the history: he moved them to this edgy neighborhood, into a house that sucked money out of every available source, for some reason and against everyone's advice. "You have a kid," we said. "She could better live in a neighborhood where at least there's a corner store. Bed-Stuy? Maybe when you guys get older and richer and Pippa's not living at home anymore."
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