Please won't you be my neighbor?

In the past few days, I’ve learned a bit about the people I live with. Well, not so much “live with” as “live around.” On Sunday night, Darrel and I were hanging out in his apartment when we heard what sounded either like bad music or a drunken dispute. We decided it was time for a smoke and went out to have a look. There, standing dangerously close to my car, were a group of people and two guys yelling at each other at the top of their lungs. They were not the most snappiest dressers but more typical of what I may have seen back home at that hour. One man in question who was going on about “if I didn’t respect my dad…” and “I’ll hit you in the face we a baseball bat” was wearing a nice little ensemble of shorts that don’t fit, a backwards baseball hat, and a wife beater. The latter of which I found ironic with talk of a bat and all.

Anyway, they had been fighting for about maybe three minutes before two police cars rolled up and broke up what ever domestic problems they were trying to hammer, or I should say “bat,” out. The night was uneventful past that. I did find out from a nice woman who lives down the hall from me that the man speaking of baseball equipment was the boyfriend of a young girl who lives across the hall from me. She apparently is known for bringing in the types of fellows, one whom was thought to have stolen some things out of some apartments in the building. Joy!

The woman who informed me of all this had, the day before, asked me to take a look at her 1976 Bicentennial Edition Fender acoustic since it hadn’t been playing very well. I took a look at it and gave her some appropriate advice. She had also filled me in that after twenty or so years, she was going back to school this semester for accounting so she can properly take care of her children. This sort of ideal is something I greatly respect.

The last group of people that I ran into happened on Monday night. Again, Darrel and I were standing outside for lack of anything else to do when a girl rolled up in the lot and walked to the door. I asked her what she had been doing that night and she replied “you don’t wanna know.”
Typical of myself I said “Fair enough” and went on talking to Darrel. She came around and told us that she had been fighting with her boyfriend, with whom she works with.

Anita, twenty and living with a few friends of hers upstairs, told us about all the troubles she had gone through with him and we, in exchange, asked her about the town and things that the locals would know. She also gave us a “tour” of her car of all the scratches and dents that she had collected after a small joke I made about “women drivers.” She was a nice girl to talk to that night despite her troubled evening and before long her two friends Amanda and Thor (yes, that’s right) showed up. They asked us up to their apartment and before long they were showing off scrap books and things that they had placed on their refrigerator. They also offered to take us on a tour of the town on Thursday. From the looks of the car, it should be an exciting evening. We took our leave that night when a small shaving cream fight erupted in the bathroom and Darrel and I didn‘t feel like doing the wash. All in all, it’s nice to know a few more people in the building.

Speaking of my apartment, it’s almost put together, I bought a glass top coffee table from the Salvation Army for ten dollars. It will need to be cleaned and painted but it should make a nice addition to the place once it’s complete. I also got my print of The Old Guitarist by Pablo Picasso hung over my TV with the help of Darrel and a 9 PM run to Wal-Mart for some picture framing wire. More on all that later.

Well, I better get moving. I still need to check my bank balance, pick up some books from the school, and resurrect a coffee table. So much to do and so little time. Wait… strike that. Reverse it…