Years ago, I managed a gas station across the street from a large park for a year or so. There was an occasional party, but that noise usually died down around ten or eleven. After that, it was quiet except for an occasional shot (or, oddly, cherry bomb) or sudden abrupt cussing as someone ran across the street. Usually just the sound of traffic and trees.
What I remember most vividly was the raped women, and there were several. We were open 24 hours, so those on our side of the park would run towards our lights. Out of five, four didn't want us to call the police and ran if they thought we were going to. The fifth was just a scared kid.
Several times, I came in the morning and found blood all over the restrooms, both the mens' and womens'. Since they were behind the building, out of sight of our windows, we never knew where it came from, aside from one young guy we had to call an ambulence for. But we were fortunate; at another station, there was a dead body.
Sometimes I came to find yuckier things in the restrooms. Let's not go there.
The police came to trust me (apparently the prior owner had been trafficking), so they began having coffee and doughnuts while parked on our lot, and it got better. But, back to the subject, it was commonly a quiet and peaceful scene on the surface.