A big city small town anecdote:
About 18 years back I was living in South Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Was a tough neighborhood at the time, but is all pretty gentrified now. I was in college at a public university and the rent was dirt cheap with close proximity to Manhattan via the J train.
Anyway, in NYC at the time you had to move your car twice a week for an hour a day so they could sweep the streets. This happened early in the morning on my old block and a parking spot on the opposite side of the street from the next days’ sweeping was coveted so you didn’t have to get up early to move the car. My block was a well known drug spot, so most of the regular dudes had an eye on the block’s comings and goings. Looking out for cops, jackers (dude’s whose profession is robbing drug dealers), or anything else amiss. I’d somehow endeared myself to everyone by nature of being around for a bit (basic Spanish helped) and helping their kids build skateboard ramps and passing them my old National Geographic magazines (there’s a whole wide world out there, kids!)
Finally, the story: One day I’m riding my bicycle home on a Sunday afternoon after some beers elsewhere and see a golden parking spot that’d let me sleep in the next day. I ditched the bike real fast and ran to my car, whipped that thing across the street to the good spot and felt real self assured.
Then, a few of the block regulars came running from up asking, “Yo, you good, man!?” My response was, “Oh hell yeah, check my parking spot!” Their response was “We thought someone was after you and were ready to roll!” All while lifting their shirts and showing me they were packing pistols in their waistbands.
Long story long, guess it’s good to know the neighbors had my back. Neighborhoods in the big city are all small towns in their own weird and twisted ways.