My neighbor comes out to sit on his front step to watch me mow my lawn. I'd be creeped out slightly if I thought he was coming out to watch "a hot piece of ass" mow the lawn...but as I wear baggy sweats, a t-shirt and baseball cap, I know that this is an impossibility. He isn't seeing anything except old sweats! So why? Is he there to critique my mowing abilities? Now there's a possibility. I am terrible. My dad enjoyed mowing the lawn back when I lived at the family homestead...so I never learned how. Damn you Dad! Now I know it's not rocket science or anything but my next door neighbor mows like daily and makes cool cris-cross patterns like he owned a baseball field rather than .25 of an acre...and his wife plants enough flowers to stock a fucking home show. Then there's me. I always have to go out and pick up all my friend's cigarette butts and beer bottles from off my porch and pick up the Geranium I always forget to water.

The neighbor across the street though, alludes me. Why must he strike up stupid conversations with me? Why must he do it why the mower is running? Why must he ask me about the cars that appear in my driveway--uh duh, you know the answer to that...do you want me to say because I'm banging multiple men? Well...actually I'm not (at this moment). I'm not having sex with anyone. I'm in mourning for Matty. Why do I live in a neighborhood that makes me want to hide in my house at any given moment.