Las Ciruelas Street, being blind to the houses on the other side of the church, a squared neighborhood with a small park and the church in front of the white house, the house Chick Evens lived at, owned and lived in, was a quiet street except at certain hours and days, when the old lady from the apartment building next door brought out her seven dogs-to relieve themselves on the park's grass-the park was next to the church, in which they chased and barked and become simply a nuisance to anything or anybody or creature within ten feet of them; or the bicycle man on the corner of his street, kitty-corner from his white house, was giving exercises lessons to a horde of neighborhood children in the park across the street from his house; or when someone had a wedding at the church, and a big ceremony was involved, or when a few blocks away the disco noises converged in a single night upon them, a sensation, numbness they all felt, fought in the courts, it being a three-story nightclub, its proprietors, old mayors retired from public service...
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