Parsley was cookie-cutter in its appearance. With just under 30,000 residents, it looked like a charming, pretty post-card. All of the gardens were perfect, the church (Anglican, of course), mosque, and synagogue were immaculate, and it was difficult to find anyone who didn’t smile and say hello to you. Until it got dark. Then, Parsley was not ‘Always on Your Side’, as the roadside sign chirped when you arrived for god-knows-what. There was a good chance you’d be jumped and beaten after drinking at a local bar, or find a po-faced man-child peeping in your window as you changed at midnight. Sometimes, Parsley was deadly.