Number Neighbors

by Emma Hart

“I’m not going to put this down if you’re going to keep yelling at me, Lucifer.” Yes, I called the kitten Lucifer.

I watched for a few minutes, skipping the so-called story in the beginning. I had no idea why porn makers did that. Nobody watched porn for the story, Karen. Anyway. I digress.

“Where on Earth do you think you can wear that?” I sputtered, staring at the lime green scrap of material. “Do you know your nipples play with your kneecaps?”

The woman was all drama. Well, ninety percent drama. The other ten percent of her was Jack Daniels.

“Remind me to make new friends.” “Like you have the patience for that.”

A girl wanted to be comfortable while she was taking on the world. It was no good if you had to stop to pull your thong out of your ass, was it?

“Ah, yes, those long, romantic walks to the post box.” “What in God’s name is the post box?” “Where the post goes.” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” “The mailbox,” he said wryly. “It’s a post box in the UK.” I did a double-take. “Why would you call the mailbox a post box?” “Because the post box is where the post goes.” Isaac stopped. “You’re looking at me like I’m reading you a Chinese takeaway menu in French.” “What’s a takeaway?”

“I don’t know why you invited me over. All you’ve done is whine like a little bitch.” I glared at her. “Actually, I didn’t invite you. You showed up, remember?” Grandma tilted her head to the side. “So I did. I really should call first.”

You’re not just waltzing in here with… with that accent and, well, that.” I motioned to his body, then to his face. “It’s not fair on the rest of us who were made when God was in a bad mood.”

“I know, but does he kiss with a British accent?” I stared at her. “Are you high?” “I wish,” she muttered. “But does he?”

I blinked. Holy shit. It was plastic. I’d been watering a plastic plant for two years.

“You don’t watch hockey,” Kathleen said to her. “True, but I did once date a hockey player so I know how the rules work,” she replied, staring at the TV. “You no-good motherfucker!” she yelled at it. A cheer came up from our surrounding tables. “See?” she said smugly. “There’s really nothing to it.”