They were just like a couple from a Norman Rockwell painting, except for the hidden bricks of cocaine.
But soon things started getting strange. I noticed they had lots of visitors.
"Well, of course, they're so friendly!" I told myself, in my best Barney Fife voice.
But the visitors all drove nice cars, like Escalades and Mercedes.
"How wonderful; their friends are so successful!" I bumbled.
My girlfriend and I also noticed police cars driving by our house several times a day, but since we had only just moved upstairs from the basement, which had no windows, we assumed that the police traffic was normal. Maybe our street was a standard route for the police to get to and from their station, or maybe they were patrolling the elementary school two blocks down the street from us. After all, you can never trust a second-grader.
"Keep walkin', old man."
But everything changed one morning when I woke up to go to work. When I got to the stop sign at the end of the block, two police cars were driving toward me, and when I passed them, they immediately did a U-turn, threw on their lights, and pulled me over. I admit I kind of rolled that stop sign, but two cars to pull me over seemed excessive. An officer approached my car and politely asked me if I knew why I was pulled over. But as I started to offer some bulls**t excuse for rolling the stop sign, another cop came running up behind the first officer with his gun drawn, screaming at me to get out of the car.