Chapter 43
THE ORCHARDS, Frayville’s public housing project, lurked on the far west side of town, far away from the Sand River, downtown, the electrical plant, or anything else the poor people might have infringed on. Five three-story apartment buildings loomed over a circular park. The builders had meant well, putting in the skateboard ramp and the pebbled concrete picnic tables and the maple trees. But an accidentally imported Vietnamese beetle had eaten the trees, graffiti artists had claimed the skate park, and the apple tree planted in front of each building only produced small, sour fruit that went wormy before it even got green. Just like most of the inhabitants.
It’s not fair to label everyone in subsidized housing that way. Some of them were perfectly nice folks. But as a police
