Our nextdoor neighbor looks like a lost sheep dog. He is scrawny, with clothes hanging loosely off his body, and he's tall. Kind of reminds me of a scarecrow. His hair, being unkempt, only highlights this comparison.
For some reason, in this neighborhood, people are actually neighborly, and this is so unusual for me that I question it. My lost neighbor, whom I share walls with, is more of the familiar kind - keeping to himself and not speaking to anyone. Other than Father John, that is. You see, Father John lives two doors down from...Jim, we'll call him.
Last week, an old gentleman wearing two pairs of glasses, a yellow pair over top of a "normal" pair, approached me as I was going towards the wooden gate to my back patio. "Do you live here,?" he asked, and I can't get past the glasses. "Yes, we just moved in." "Oh good," he says. "My name is Father John." From here, he proceeds to tell me about Jim.
I don't know why Jim's issues are mine. But, since I am his neighbor, Father John thinks that qualifies me. Funny, eh? Caring about your neighbors??!!...what an antiquated little town this is.
Why would I bring you into this, though? You don't know Jim either. He's a stranger to us both. There's no need to get you involved. He doesn't mean anything to you, or to me. It's like those TV commercials which make us all cringe. You know, the ones with the skeleton figures who might be children if they had food and water, etc.
I'll just hit mute until it passes.
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