For two and a half months now, there has been a rusty old Chevy Blazer parked right in front of the house. It belongs to the guy across the street, and it hasn't been moved in all that time, because he now has a new truck.

The thought of calling the police, and having it towed, had occured to me, but given that the house concerned is well-known for dealing drugs, I've not wanted to risk becoming an enemy of the Wash Park mafia.

To make matters worse, it's been parked across the little footpath that runs from the my house, across the sidewalk*, and down to the road. This meant I had a hell of a job loading and unloading the drum sander that I hired the other day.

So imagine my surprise this morning, when as I'm bemoaning this situation to a friend via ICQ, the owner of said rustbucket, comes out and starts it up. He then walked off leaving it running.

When he came back, I decided that rather than create any friction, I'd go and introduce myself, and ask politely if he could move the truck.

He seemed like a nice guy, and was only too happy to move the Blazer. It's now parked in front of the empty lot next door.

I know it might seem like only a small victory, but it's so nice to resolve a problem without conflict.

*I know, being British I should be calling it 'the pavement', but that's what Americans call the road, so it would only lead to confusion. European readers are smart enough to be aware of this US word, so we'll use that.