When I lived in my Redmond flop, my next-door neighbor was, without a doubt, psychotic. He barricaded his sliding glass door in books and magazines so that his landlord would not enter. Every time he saw me walk to or from my car, he lunged at me to share his latest conspiracy theory. He needn't have bothered. I'd already read about it in the note to the government he'd taped to his front door.
One day, he asked for five bucks for gas. I forget his tale of hardship, but does it matter? I opened my wallet and found only 20s. Shit. He gratefully took a 20, and I never heard from him again. Never even caught a glimpse of my once-omnipresent neighbor. Best twenty bucks I ever spent.
Percy and Thelm@ are back from Arizona. His first order of business was to ask me about my riding lawnmower, which I never use. He might like to buy it, he said. "I don't know if it even runs anymore," I replied, suggesting that he try it out first. He did. It ran.
It ran all the way into his garage, in fact, where it's been for a month. In that time, I haven't seen or heard from Percy once. Not one awkward silence. Not one inquiry about how much I earn. Not one rude question that barely veils criticism. Not one instance of him seeing me naked as he peeks in the window unannounced. And it's certainly not in his interests to let himself into my house, anymore.
Yeah, a part of me is bothered by the obvious abuse. A minority part. He can keep the mower; I wanna see how long I can ride this out. My relationship with Percy is, at long last, right where I want it.