My neighbors are:

The friendly young Catholic family, the grouchy old couple who are mean to their dog, and the people who always get drunk around their fire pit.

The only ones I really know are the friendly young Catholic family. His name is Manny and then there’s Mrs. Manny, and then the two little Mannys. Delightful folks. Devoutly Catholic, complete with all the idolatry–statues, charms, medallions, the whole she-bang. Me and Manny help dig each other’s cars out of the snow every winter. We wave at each other the rest of the year.

One time I helped the grouchy old couple get back their dog. We have this mailwoman in our neighborhood who could not give less of a shit about her job. She’s always on her phone while she’s delivering. She puts everybody’s mail in the wrong boxes. This dipshit makes, like, $20 an hour, too–to wander around doing, at best, a half-assed job, talking to her boyfriend, probably. And she leaves everybody’s gates open.

The grouchy old couple let their dog out into their yard one day, not realizing this half-assed poster girl of socialism had left their gate open and their dog got loose. I noticed and went after it. In my mind, I was “rescuing” it, but I was probably ruining its attempt at the good life because all these disagreeable old people do is yell and cuss at it.

Looking back on it, I should’ve let it go. “Fly free, little bird!”

The fire pit people I don’t know at all. They just moved in this Spring. I don’t know how they are made up or coupled or tripled. There’s always five or six of them over there, sitting around the fire pit. Maybe they’re a tribe of room mates. I admire them, though, because open fires are not allowed in the city limits and they have one going five evenings a week, at least. Fuck yeah, to that.

I wonder what my neighbors think of me, if they do at all? “The weird guy with the beard who treats his dogs like children and pisses off his porch when he thinks we ain’t looking.”?

Hey, I’m trying to conserve water. Save the planet!