Down the end of Old Farm Road is where tenants know if you're one of them and if you're not. There's a block of two-storey state houses, half boarded up and waiting for the bulldozer, half occupied by people who hang sheets for curtains and are home between 9 and 5.
Ordinary people live here. They garden and wave to the neighbours. And gangsters live here. They walk with a slow beat and grow staunch if you meet their eyes, they parade colours like peacocks.