go2536 Entrenched Foreign Correspondent, um, corresponding.
We can all picture the scene in our mind’s eye: White-shuttered houses with wide porches on quiet lanes. Inlets and coves dotted with moored sailboats. Crack pipes.
Wait, what was that last one?
It would appear that, according to reliable sources, There’s more to North Falmouth than the Village Association would like us to believe.
“I can spot a good crack pipe a mile a way,” intones my informant - a strapping man with a noble chin, a dignified air, and horn-rimmed glasses with an attached nose and mustache named “Anthony”. Though some have gone so far as to call him “Insane” in the past, I have never found him to be anything less than credible.

The Evidence.
I’m back in the 02536, if only temporarily. I had to slip across the border incognito; first growing out my straggly beard, then shaving into it the traditional tribal markings known as “handlebars.” I’m risking exposure and almost certain disdain from my “neighbors” to gain access to the information possessed by Tony. You see, Tony is a smuggler, though many would call him a Freedom Fighter, providing many disenfranchised 02556ers with necessary amenities from the 02536, like duct tape, acid washed denim, and - perhaps most importantly - information.
“It was sittin’ there, in the parkin’ lot at Nye Park,” Tony pauses to spit in his dip can, then adds, “I could smell the crack residue across the park.” When I ask if he could perhaps be mistaken, if there is a possibility that some sea captain had merely dropped his tobacco pipe after a long season of whaling, Tony merely stares at me. I feel his gaze plumbing the very depths of my soul, it’s clear that he pities my naiveté. Then, he chuckles, and adds with a paternal smile, “Yeah, I know. It turned my world upside down, too.”
So, the question remains, is this an isolated incident, or is this lone crack pipe indicative of a, dare I say, 02556 crack epidemic?
“Oh, this happens in any region where there is disposable income and not enough going on to keep the masses entertained,” proffers the 02536’s Ambassador to 02556, known only by the letter “B.” She then turns her petite frame towards the bay window, gazes upon the 02556 and shakes her head. “Oh, I shudder to think what kind of dirt lies beneath these neatly manicured lawns.”
Well, It would seem that “B” has described the 02556 in a nutshell. A zip code that has a mean household income of, well, more that you, dear reader, and a zip code that effectively shuts down at Eight O’clock PM, when Bill O’Reilly comes on. Between these two testimonial, and my own astute observations, I’ve effectively established Motive, Means, and Opportunity. Game, set, match.
Have these revelations shattered our perception of the seemingly pristine 02556? Perhaps Tony best sums it up when he says, “Every clean zip code has its dirty secrets.”
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