I look past him out at the park. My eyes land on Charles, a tall, gangly man with a horseshoe mustache, long thin hair, and a slight hunchback. He’s in his forties and lives on the corner of our street. Not only is he an eyesore but so is his yard, which is filled with run-down vehicles he refuses to get rid of. He stands alone, staring at a group of teen girls who are attempting to create a human pyramid. A beer is clutched in one hand and a lit Marlboro cigarette is in his other, pinched between his pointer finger and thumb.
