Ricky stays in the second house on the left. The first place is a regular night-time hangout for teenagers who use drugs, break into homes and steal cars. Hard rubbish and glass from broken windows stretches from the front step out on to the road, slowing cars (and cops) from entering the street.
“That’s the ice dealer, there,” says Ricky’s friend, pointing at a brick place up the street and across the road with black sheets wadded into the windows. “The cops come through here sometimes two, three times a week. I’ve never seen them go up to that house.”
