55

            Determined not to notice how good he looked, “Is there a problem?” I asked.

            “Interesting neighborhood.”

            He just said it like an insult. I lived in the eclectic south Oroville neighborhood of Oak Cliff. My street was full of funky, aging houses, some of which—like me—were being carefully renovated, and others of which hovered in a state of negligent disrepair. This part of town had a terrible reputation, although it was far safer now than it had been a couple of decades ago.

            “Thanks.” I smiled, pretending to mistake his comment for a compliment, as I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.

        &nbs