AMY ALKON: L.A.’s Failed Homeless Policies Turned My Home Into a Prison.

Since our criminal and his girlfriend were off somewhere on his bike, I worried that the police would see the van sitting there, with no voices or sounds coming from it, and they’d just leave. At the one-hour mark, I darted out and left a magic-markered note on the van windshield: “Officers, please call resident. Phone # left w/Dispatch.” But before the officers arrived, the couple roared back on the bike. I watched from indoors as they crumpled up my pathetic note, laughed and threw it in the gutter, and roared off again.

An hour and a half after I’d called 911, officers arrived. And it was then—noon, on Thursday, August 20th that I had an upsetting revelation: We citizens can no longer rely on the police to show up. And then the thought hit me: I need to get a gun.

You’ve got to love the irony. It’s the Democrats who push for gun control, yet it’s the Democrats in power in my city who are leaving me with no choice but to arm myself.

The truth is I shouldn’t have a gun. I’m a boob when I’m afraid. I lose all mental and physical capacity. I know, if you get a gun, you’re supposed to practice at a gun range regularly, and I would. Still, in a heated situation, I have my doubts that I could even find the “safety,” a term I know only from watching TV and movie crime dramas.

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