When you live in the city you notice. I can see almost 40 houses from my house. All with yards, cars, driveways, dogs. One neighbor has a pool. One house is empty. Over there, she's a beautician. That way, she's hearing impaired and has a barky little dog. He stands in his driveway and stares at his feet. She cleans houses and has lots of company. He's a flirt, borderline lecher. OK, he's a lecher. They go to church every Saturday at 3:45 pm. He plays horseshoes and drinks beer with buddies on weekend afternoons.
Not that I'm standing at the windows; I don't even notice that I notice. But I notice.
So I just noticed. Where is her car? He has a red truck, she has a white car with a pink ribbon on the license plate. They have a little girl; I remember when they brought the baby home and she cried at night. They put up a sandbox in the backyard last spring. Mom's mother visits sometimes, the mother-in-law. Dad's dad parked his truck in the yard and disappeared. Jail?
Where is her car, mom? Mom, the mother-in-law, the little girl: where are they? He hasn't mowed the lawn yet, and I've mowed three times. No barbeques, no sandbox action, no laughter. What happened?
Not that I'm standing at the windows; I don't even notice that I notice. But I notice.
So I just noticed. Where is her car? He has a red truck, she has a white car with a pink ribbon on the license plate. They have a little girl; I remember when they brought the baby home and she cried at night. They put up a sandbox in the backyard last spring. Mom's mother visits sometimes, the mother-in-law. Dad's dad parked his truck in the yard and disappeared. Jail?
Where is her car, mom? Mom, the mother-in-law, the little girl: where are they? He hasn't mowed the lawn yet, and I've mowed three times. No barbeques, no sandbox action, no laughter. What happened?
