Our Temple Terrace apartment complex started to become a haven for the criminally insane bent on booze, crack, crank and general violent madness. I was convinced the scorching Florida sun was partly to blame. My roommate Bryan was assaulted one afternoon by Danny’s next door neighbor, Zeb, for a small monetary debt. Maybe twenty bucks. Zeb was a convicted felon from Green Haven Correctional Facility in upstate New York. His crime was manslaughter among many other criminal ventures he had undertaken and he carried on with the same attitude as that of a deviant caged monkey.

 I became acquainted with Zeb one humid afternoon poolside sharing a cold beer. After a brief conversation he invited me into his apartment to check out his Harley Davidson.

 I thought, hmm. How the hell could he roll a Harley in and out of the doorway of this small apartment?

 ”So whatcha’ think?  She’s my baby.” He asked proudly regarding his Harley stripped down to bare bones and ordered his girlfriend to fetch us a couple more cold ones.

 ”Oh, nice.” I responded as my intuition screamed from within…….NUT JOB! The bike was layed out in the entire living room area sparkling with chrome rims, engine parts and a black Nazi storm trooper helmet with the SS insignia stamped on the front. His girlfriend was young and subservient, serving us up two cold Budweiser’s. After taking a seat at Zeb’s kitchen table he took out a small purple velvet pouch which contained a glass pipe and what looked to be crystal meth. Again my intuition screamed, drink your beer and get the hell out of this den of biker madness!

 He cranked up his little butane torch and puffed away on his crystal meth. I could feel his demeanor immediately change too paranoia as his eyes lit up like a pinball machine and he then scooted off to peer out his windows like someone was after him. He sat back down and passed the pipe my way inviting me to smoke after a long pull on his cold beer.

 Now a little nervous I said,  “Nah, Zeb. I only smoke pot and cigarettes. That’s bad enough for me as I have a heart condition and don’t feel like keeling over today. But with all due respect, puff away. I won’t tell a soul.” I lied about having a heart condition and just wanted to leave without pissing him off. I now knew he was weird and completely insane. He reveled in being viewed as a crazed biker high on crank and shouted, “You’re damn right you won’t tell a soul. I’ll snap your neck if I hear otherwise!”

 ”Zeb, for real. Do you actually think I’m that crazy? We’re good bro.” In a reassuring tone and true regret of ever entering his den of madness, I left.

 I’m sure he meant it too.  A week later after he and Bryan bickered over twenty bucks under the terrace, Zeb sucker punched Bryan so hard from behind he crashed through the adjacent picture window of a sweet senior named Katherine. As the window shattered so did Bryan’s jaw which had to be wired shut for six weeks. Not long after that incident Danny witnessed Zeb trying to drown his girlfriend in the complex pool a few strokes after midnight.

 My intuition was right. Zeb was a psychotic beast and I now avoided him like the black plague. It was also quite obvious another change was on the horizon. Time to look for another apartment. So as the craziness continued at Temple Terrace Mike suggested I move in with his brother Vietnam Bob. He was a framing carpenter and part time cook at the restaurant so I already knew him fairly well. He would also tell me stories of some of his experiences in the Jungle’s from Hell as he referred to it.

 I was sure this living arrangement couldn’t be any worse then Temple Terrace. What the hell? I would be further away from Danny and these characters lurking about the complex were getting stranger by the day. Bryan and I would stay in touch as he understood the circumstances and was moving too. Drama is one thing, but when it turns criminal and psychotic, I’m out the door!

 When I first moved in I made instant friendships at Bob’s smaller terrace complex. It was only a five minute walk to the beach and nearest Circle-K convenient store. This was great! There was Kenny who was a manager at a local Winn-Dixie on Federal Highway and Billy a drywall/plaster tradesmen self-employed in the area. They were good guys and quite friendly as they welcomed me into their circle. Both Kenny and Billy were recently divorced and bragged about their new found freedoms again being bachelors. They would belch in harmony, “No more Haggin’, no more nagging”, and then laugh there asses off. I couldn’t completely understand. I’d never been married but either way they were good dude’s.

 But, no matter where one resides in South Florida there’s always that screwed up neighbor in your business trying to destroy your life. Whether it be a conscious or unconscious urge, it was another sad and ugly truth regarding my experiences living in the tropics. That sweltering Florida sun does serious brain damage when stirred in with an icy goblet of Wild Turkey or just a pint of warm Budweiser.

 There was another couple that lived directly above Bob and I. His warnings to me regarding their behavior mildly disturbed me but was typical in the penetrating sun of Pompano Beach. Kyle was a cutlery salesman and Janet was his insane girlfriend. They were both addicted to heroin and crack and she was a real pain in the ass. Kyle was barely noticeable. On the other hand Janet was a scamming bum well on her way to self destruction constantly annoying neighbors for pleas of cash to sustain her thirst for the syringe. Like most junkies issues would arise in her day that normal people wouldn’t encounter for years if at all. They are a strange breed of skeletal mass that view the world around them as one big scavenger hunt for drugs. My relations with them would become strange, weird and dangerous in the months to come. I really thought I was moving to a better place!