I have never actually met any of my neighbors. We do the mutual "acknowledgment of existence" head nod if we see each other on the street, but there is rarely a "hello" that passes between us.
Despite this fact, I feel like I know my neighborhood pretty well. I know that the old woman next door gets up at 5:30am. She talks to her dog when she lets him out at 5:45a. I know that the garbage man is always two hours late, and the recycle man is thirty minutes early. I've recently come to realize that the man next door comes home every night at 11:30pm because I can hear the sliding doors on his van. And either the people across the street are very good about beating their dog every evening at 11pm, or that's when they put him in his kennel and he howls in protest.
Living in a such close proximity to people in houses where the walls are paper thin can make one either appreciate privacy or develop an addiction to gossip.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Sometimes I sing that song from Sesame Street, "The People in Your Neighborhood" when I'm walking around my neighborhood, but I keep it real:
The vagrant is a person in my neighborhood,
In my neighborhood, in my neighborhood.
Oh, the wino is a person in my neighborhood,
In my neighborhood, in my neighborhood.
They're the people that you meet,
When you're walking down the street.
They're the people that you meet each day.
I'm still working on stanzas for my goth grocery-store manager, the Jesus-freak, and the Asian woman who powerwalks at 6 am while wearing pantyhose and a skirt - in the summer.
Dude, are you talking about Phil at Whole Foods Symphony? He's not the manager is he?
Nope, I mean the guy at the Metromarket in Milwaukee.
Post a Comment