Dispatches From The ‘Burbs
Yeah, I’m a crappy blogger for many reasons, not the least of which is that I seem to only update once every three months. Had a lot going on; I apologize.
So, I moved into town; the rent is relatively cheap, the house is “cozy”, which is how people crammed-in try to church up their living situations. It’s cramped, to say the least, especially when you consider that this entire house is approximately 1000′sq. SMALLER than my SHOP back out in the sticks. But, I love it. There’s a school one block over, and the Heathens went over there today to stomp about on the playground equipment. At night I can hear the sirens of Rescue 1 and Engine 1 as they traverse across Center City, the bleary eyed firemen irritated and groggy and pumped up all at once.
I can walk to a Starbucks, a Korean Presbyterian Church, Bass Pro, McDonald’s, a rare coin shop, local Democratic headquarters, a tattoo joint, a bar that opens at 7am, a delicious BBQ place, several stink-laden thrift shops and a place that offers to put “fake duels” on my vehicle’s exhaust system. I had no idea that false dual-exhaust systems would be capable of dueling one another. I have a neighbor named “Randy” who rolls his own smokes, works in the heating and air conditioning business, and who’s wife apparently insists that he partake outdoors, based on the frequency with which he is sitting on his stoop, angrily smoking like a freight train. I have another neighbor named “Gary” who is a self-described “jacked-up cripple” due to the unfortunate set of circumstances that led him to fall out of a tree; I suspect he has a lot of help from prescription medications to deal with the pain, whether or not they were prescribed for him. He also has a lovely bass boat, all sparkle painted up, parked in his back yard. He seems like a nice guy. Across the street is an old recluse who has availed himself of the opportunity to glare at me each time he lurches out into his driveway to collect his mail; I suspect we’ll be best friends by Thanksgiving. The neighbor to my north seems utterly uninterested in anything going on here, which suits me to a tee. Across the street is the standard West Side thugtastico: he has a rusted out weight bench on the front porch, an unhinged hound that barks like a maniac most of the day and, despite all the crap and detritus in the yard, is sporting THE FINEST set of wheels on his beater of an SUV.
I think I’m gonna fit in just fine here.