The troublesome canine duo from the house around the corner hasn’t been seen lately. I’m not about to go over there and ask why. The neighborhood’s ecstatic about it–no more holes in flowerbeds; no more frightened cats. Perhaps animal control did their job for a change.
Miranda lost her job with the housecleaning service. It seems she dropped too many “F-bombs,” whistling while she worked at the old folk’s condos. No surprise there, her old man was a sailor. Lord, can that girl ever cuss. Miranda took it all in stride–cursed her boss out, too.
What’s with the fake alligator in Mark’s front yard? Well, at any rate, it’s better than a real one. Mark, a few days back, startled the neighborhood with pistol shots. He claimed to be shooting snakes in the flooded ditch near the end of his driveway. Folks were wondering why no dead snakes ever showed up. Perhaps he was just shooting, shooting? Some people just seem to like things that go boom.
The Carter’s have five cars parked in their driveway. There’s only two of them. What’s that all about? Nobody’s said anything about it. People had plenty to say about Mr. Allen’s bright blue shutters last year. I guess some things stick out more than others.
And, another thing–there are too many Tiki torches in this neighborhood. At night the whole neighborhood looks like it’s on fire.
Stop by some time. That’s all I got for now. Doing my part to keep you better informed. Here’s to a better neighborhood. Till then, I remain, your diligent dilettante.