Reddening trees at Fermi Park — photo by Jeremy Sapienza

I live just feet from Fermi Playground at Central and Troutman. Over the last couple of years, I have seen a marked change in its users. During the day, children played on the equipment and its cluster of picnic tables and spread of benches went unused except by a few watchful parents. At nightfall, the dealers moved in, intimidating passers-by and making sales at the tables.

These days, there is a mixed-age crowd of people using the square at any hour — last week as I passed by, a few of the local locas gossiped in one corner as a gaggle of young goths, all black denim, leather, grommets and makeup, talked about witchcraft in another. More strollers and running kids and pregnant moms and doting abuelas than ever squeeze into this mix. Sometimes it’s rowdy, sometimes it’s peaceful, but something old is noticeably missing: the thugs. I don’t know where they went, and I don’t care. They’re gone. It’s amazing how a block and a neighborhood can spring to life after a few tumors are snipped out.