I have yet to meet the neighbors.

About a month ago, we noticed the people directly next door to us move out. Their presence in the house was strange to begin with; the lights were never on except at odd hours, and nobody ever really came or went. We assumed they were maybe college students with a big checking account, but no real thought went into it as we watched them move out a house full of furniture and drive off.

For a couple of days, the house was quiet and neighbor-free. It was peaceful in the way that living in a subdivision with only five houses can be peaceful. I could still walk to the mailbox looking gross in the mornings, clad only in my gray two-piece pajamas. It was idyllic. Until one morning...



That's actually not an exaggeration at all. Ever since working at home, I've become a crazy old recluse, scowling at children out of windows and spying on the mailperson. So one day, when walking past my window, I see about five or six leather-clad bikers standing in front of my house, hanging out. The fear-mongering American deep inside me says, panic, they're here to murder you. Everything else says that they have cool beards.

Turns out they weren't there to loot and murder me Sons of Anarchy-style, they were just looking at the house next door.

Cool bikers moving in next door? A dream come true! They'll listen to ZZ Top all day and invite me to go for rides; I have a little Metropolitan, so I'll fit right in!

(Beep beep, here comes a very special boy!)

But no!

One day, while walking to get the mail, I happened to spy their open garage. Inside was the usual family stuff (toolboxes, regular boxes), and also a drum kit! Yes, I thought to myself, the guy next door plays drums! We'll become good friends and also party! Except that hanging behind his drum kit was the Confederate flag.

I stopped for a minute and looked down at my Obama/Biden '08 shirt I was wearing. And suddenly I realized, I don't know if this is going to work or not.

The next few days were spent in quiet caution, like a bad prom date stretched over a week. Except that the quiet quickly disappeared when he started to rev his motorcycle at 7:45 AM every morning.

I am nothing if not a slothful man. I work at 9 AM, and since I work from home, I'm very rarely out of bed before 8:30. It's a perk of some sort! So a loudly rev'd motorcycle before 8:00 AM is kind of obnoxious. It was then that I knew the honeymoon was over.

Soon, I found a slow but steady creep of their personal belongings from their yard into ours. One day it was a kid's tricycle discarded on our lawn; no big deal! The next day, a tow trailer was parked in front of the sidewalk between us. And then another one appeared on the other side of their driveway. Now, this morning, I wake to find that an RV is parked across from the house! An RV!

Jimmy Stewart never had to face an RV!

It is also important to note that, as I typed this, I realized that I truly have become the creepy old guy who takes pictures of his street and complains about it. I need a better hobby, like maybe doing work between work hours.

Just kidding, no I don't! Unless Scott is reading this. Hi Scott!

Maybe there's some light at the end of the tunnel. Kathy said that a couple of days ago, one of their daughters smiled and waved to her as she drove off.

Maybe I'm misinterpreting data, and the Confederate flag is there because he's a biker hipster with a deep sense of irony. Maybe the trailers are all full of candy for the children of the world.

Or maybe, just maybe, I should go over to his door dressed in leather, and tell him I want to play some ZZ Top covers with him.

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