Pup and I live in a mostly sweet little neighborhood of 1960s housing in a part of Minneapolis that is neither totally the hood, nor very swanky. Just a middle-class neighborhood full of diversity and hope. Growing younger all the time which is fantastic!
Our neighbors are great. I wouldn't call our street the kind of street that is in each other's faces all the time, but we're a fairly friendly bunch.
Then the Hillbillys moved in. A motley crew. I wouldn't have thought much about them except the youngish man that owns the house made certain to come over and introduce himself. A talker - letting me know how "people come and go" a lot because he's so generous to all his friends. And how he's on disability for some physical thing so he's home most of the time. A little alarm went off at the time for me, but I did squash it down a bit.
My schedule is rather fluid and since our office window faces the street the Hillbilly's house is in full view when I'm working or goofin'. I noticed a lot of traffic coming and going. You know - car pulls up, a guy (usually) hops out, goes into the house, is out in about five minutes. Yep.
We even witnessed the police do an early morning raid complete with battering rams. But, as I've said, it was back to business in a day or so. Blech!
Last week Pup got stuck just off the street while plowing (I kvetched charmingly about it in a post) and two of the Hillbilly's came on the front stoop to watch and smoke.
So yesterday I'm innocently watching K-Spud in the afternoon. He's taking a little snooze on the couch in his little co-sleeper bed, I'm watching Ellen or lurking on Facebook - something totally useful I'm certain!
I text Pup a photo, but through the magic of Awesome Google Photos (or some such feature) it took my snaps and made this for me . . .
Is schadenfreude going to send me straight to hell? Will I see any of you smoochie-hoochies there? Please come visit me.