Postcards from Bali: but not in my box

I received a rather large postcard in the mail today.

It wasn’t addressed to me specifically, rather “Resident.” The address and apartment number are mine.

Might’ve been easy to dismiss it, lump it in with the bulk of supermarket ads. But I didn’t.

A photo in the upper left corner caught my eye. I read the card’s content.

Disturbed, I went online. I needed to know more. More than his name, age, height, weight, hair and eye color.

More than his face in his mugshot

More than his address next door.

For being 28, he’d built up a rap sheet. Certainly not the worst around but respectable as a small-potatoes thug. Notable is his investment of time and commitment to criminality: more than 14 years, more than half his life, back to his teens (if not earlier).

His list of infractions in prison is also noteworthy. You get the picture. Not a good dude or desirable neighbor.

All that said, it’s not his lengthy criminality that compelled my google search.

It’s this verbatim from the postcard (identifiers redacted):

“In 2016, Mr. C was convicted of sexual abuse and 3 counts of attempted molestation of a child in X-court. His victims were male and female family members.”

There’s SO much I can wrap my mind around in humanity. Even heinous crimes and serial killers.

This I cannot. Not molestation. And absolutely not molestation of your family.

He went to prison for it when he was 15.

His sentence: 4 years. That’s it.  Plus 3 lifetime terms of probation. Wouldn’t bank on his adherence, if prior parole records are any indication.

He is a level 3 sex offender. Level 3 is the highest.

The postcard from the local police department states that the information is being released pursuant to specific law.

It continues:

This notification is not intended to increase public fear; rather it is to inform the community of a sex offender living in the city” … toward an informed and safer community.”

I’ve memorized his face and physique not only because he lives next door. See, I often walk past that residence during my evening-into-night walks, when it’s “cooler” here in Phoenix, Arizona. We’re days from 110++ (43.3++ C), redefining outdoor activities.

My immediate area’s pretty ghetto. And while my apartment’s on a busy street, the sidewalk is shadowy, lit dimly if at all. I exercise extreme alertness and awareness of my surroundings — ahead, behind and from all sides.

Hypervigilance, intelligence and a lifetime of traveling alone in the U.S. and abroad have cultivated supreme common sense and street smarts..

I’d have made a fucking great detective/cop!

All said and noted, Mr. C. is an unsavory man. A lifetime as a criminal, in and out of prison, not a neighbor I’d choose.

I “get” some of his crimes.

But I cannot cannot cannot get molesting. Or trying to with children. In your own family.

Motherfucker can go to hell.


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