Well, there's the one a grew up in where I saw middle school looking kids on bikes shooting at each other once, the park on the corner near my house was renamed after the kid that had been shot in the head there, and bullets came through my fence and the side of my house several times.

Or Fargo, which seemed more peaceful other than most of the locals always seeming to be staring at me and trying to remember if they still had that rope in the truck.

Then there was Denver where I'd find at least a dozen used syringes on a light day and had to call and say I wasn't going to be able to make it to an event because there is a stretcher with a dead guy who had overdosed in the bathroom on the other side of my office door blocking me in, and the paramedics seemed to have paused to eat lunch.