Neighbors
We’ve all heard the axiom, “Good fences make good neighbors.” I guess that if you haven’t heard that specific axiom, at least now you’ve read it. My old neighborhood must have been chock-full-o’ the best o’ neighbors – most of the fences were concrete and could stop a bullet. Not that they had to stop a bullet, at least I don’t think they had to ever stop a bullet. I guess being made of cinder-block is slightly different than concrete, but you get the idea. The good-fences/good-neighbors ratio concept sounds pretty horrible in a purely ideological sense. More of a “I love my neighbors because when they shoot at me I don’t know it, well not except for the constant aural barrage of gunshots. God bless America. Lets eat steak.” (this would be the point where our fictional character-of-example gets into his SUV with DVD, video game system, and BBQ attachment)
Now I’m on the other end of the ratio. I’m living in an apartment where the only thing separating me and my direct neighbors is a common patio which I don’t think has the stopping power of the previously mentioned cinder-block dividing line. Across the way used to live a lady that apparently ate light bulbs and did other weird things, and right near them is the old couple who’s male portion has a liking of nudie soap-operas that we’ve as of yet been unable to figure out what channel they’re showing on.
When living with my parents, not once did I get surprised by multiple police officers with weapons drawn running up the driveway (analogous to the parking lot where this actually happened) and hear one say, “Hey, I think I’ve been here before.” Now, if there had been cinder-block walls for residents to use for protection, the guns wouldn’t do much good. But with only our neighbor-patios… Still, I fail to see how guns could be much of a deterrent to someone who fancies eating light bulbs, but descend upon her they did.
“Put the light bulb down, or we’ll shoot!”
“Ha! This patio will protect me!” muncha muncha muncha “ow.”