“They’re really trying,” I thought, staring at the newly erected sign in the park. I had no idea what the message meant, but it was colorful.
City officials had been listening to residents complain for years that Hamsford Park had become both an embarrassment and a danger to the community. Kids rarely played here anymore and it was widely known that this was the place to score an assortment of recreational party favors.
Or at least, it was. Being an election year, the incumbent Mayor yielded to constituent pressure and initiated a campaign to restore the park. Now there are regular police patrols, a local trash patrol, a vendor that sells copious amounts of hot dogs and ice cream and a monthly free concert in the ball field.
The drug dealers have been replaced by children and families. Even the residentially impaired folks like me that called the park home were put up in small, one room shelters. One Park Place, we call it. We’re safe, dry and best of all we get mail. Yesterday the postman handed me a letter. It was the first time I ever had to sign for a letter addressed to “Occupant”.
Gotta love progress.
Word Count: 200
[This is my entry into the Flash Fiction Challenge for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner by Roger Shipp. Write a story based on a photo prompt and introductory sentence in 200 words or less.]