This is what you get when you mix warm weather, an open bedroom window, an alcoholic, and Colt 45.My neighbor’s a drunk. And I mean it.
He was just outside with his wife and father emptying groceries from their trunk and next you know he and his father get into a fight about potatoes. Since I live in a row house near downtown, you whisper and somebody can hear you. …you talk and all surrounding neighbors can hear you. …you yell, like my neighbor, and the entire block can hear you.
I wanted to take a photo of this grimy guy and his warm Colt 45 [did you know Colt 45 came in a can?? Nor did I!] leaning on his porch, and be like Justin who gives us a lively storybook picture of his life. But I didn’t dare. This guy’s mood was just getting worse and worse [over a span of seconds, I guess malt liquor enters the bloodstream at a much faster rate than once believed]. “Fucking shit, I didn’t have to go to the store if it weren’t for you, you mother fucker,” and other such niceties were pouring like honey from his mouth. Next I hear a pouring sound, wondering what he was dumping onto the street [our houses are literally three feet from the curb], I naively look out my open window to view my neighbor pissing on the sidewalk…and, man, was there a lot of urine. Who in the hell would actually piss in their front yard in front of people? Ahh, the life and love of living in a city.
Ohhh!! I’m going to end this lovely and life-affirming entry here, for I hear This American Life on the radio downstairs. I love Ira Glass. He’s such an elusive National Public Radio superstar and hottie. [Confession: I’m paying $50 to go see him in person on the 27th, just so I can fuel my husbandry dreams about him.] MMmmm, Ira.
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