The Neighborly Thing

Edward Hopper, American Village, 1912

I wish I could say I was putting the finishing touches on a riveting short story when the doorbell rang, but the Google Doc page I’d opened this morning still had just five meandering paragraphs on it. Instead, I was on YouTube, watching SNL clips, the tenth or twentieth one that day. Laughing, but feeling bad about it.

I closed my computer and went to the door. It was C, the kid from diagonally across the street, dressed head-to-toe in kid-sized Army fatigues that were still a little too big. His mom had carefully rolled up the sleeves in one neat fold, and from beneath the slightly-too long pants, she’d matched his shoes: suede forest-green Vans.

“Is Artie home?”

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Low energy parents

Last night, just before Tom and I settled onto my parents’ lumpy couch to watch “The Wire“*, my dad said, “Aren’t you going to put the laundry on?”

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