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I grew up in a pretty typical lower-to-middle middle class neighborhood. It's cute enough, nice old silver maples, and most of the houses are smallish or of average size, and cubic. Right next to my parents' house, though, is a 2-unit apartment building, the tennants of which are rarely friendly or tidy. A few years ago on one fateful night, the slovenly married couple, who was Springer-bait, had a row in the early morning hours. Apparently, Jackie kicked Jimmie out of the apartment because he was drunk and disorderly. He voiced is objections--loudly--screaming his manshee screem and pounding on the roof of his own car with his fists, making dents. Occasionally, his wife would open the door to insult him. And when he hurled his body at her, she'd slam the door and lock it. My dad got his rifle out of the closet and peaked out the window after calling the police. When they arrived, the Jimmie ran away from them, down the street, his wail trailing off in the distance--just like in the movies.
They almost brought the property value down. |
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