22 December 2005
The Fast and The Furious
In the neighborhood where Steven and I live, there's a house next door to us that has seen a lot of action. By that, I mean a lot of tenants. It must be a leased house, a pass-thru-on-your-way-to-somewhere-else-house. And we know when it's getting new tenants because the lawn cleaning crew comes through and makes the place look presentable. At least, on the outside anyway. Our new neighbors look they got their cars straight off The Fast and The Furious backlot. Well, not all the cars. The orange one looks like Paul Walker drove, but the other one looks like it's still a work in progress. Of course, that whole too-cool-street-racing effect is ruined by the dark green Chevy Lumina parked on the street with a flat tire. I wonder how long it'll be before one of our eagle-eye neighbors gets tired of seeing it there and files a complaint with..well...the city or something. No need for a Homeowner's Association in our neighborhood. No siree. We've got the Neighborhood Block Watch (fo' shizzle) and they won't hesitate to make their presence known when you're breaking the rules of the covenant...damned cold pills...when you're interfering with the, uh, visual flow of the neighborhood. What. Ever. Not that we've ever interfered, mind you. No, no. Not us. No way. No how.
Surprisingly enough, we haven't heard any loud thumping music blasting through the neighborhood, no revved up engines late at night or early in the morning, and no drag racing up and down the street. Unlike that little twerp who madly buzzes around on his motorized scooter. I wouldn't mind running over him. Purely by accident, of course. All in all, that little house has seen its share of tenants and, being a writer, I find potential story material in all aspects of life. If that house could talk, I wonder what it would say?
