in the neighborhood

This house is growing quiet. Sailorsausage has left the building--today I walked through their empty apartment. My little hippie neighbor is packing. And Remy's gone to live someplace else.

This morning one of the guys who's always walking through the parking lot next door--the guys that Truman and Chance love to bark bark bark at and usually get bark bark barked at in return--said, Hey! Where are his friends? And I said, They're not here.

This one is the cute one! said the guy. The compliment, while appreciated, did not make me overlook the fact that he leaves empty vodka bottles wedged in our fence. They're pocket-sized, though, so they make nice vases.

It feels a little bit like the end of that first year in Kato. Then, too, I moved into a house occupied by five other people. Then, too, it was a year of hearing other folks go up and down the stairs. And then the year came to an end, and everyone trickled out, and I was the only one left.

Of course, these neighbors were not ROTC Dave, who used to leave chewed gum on the kitchen countertops and practice target shooting by aiming a pistol at his television set. And they were not his equally infamous replacement, the wonder duo of Ann and Kevin. I don't know yet who will replace these folks, though of course they'll be fine. It's just strange that I've become the default senior resident.

My apartment is being shown in the morning. Maybe I should wear pants.

Still, it's a nice to have this month upstairs, and to be staying here a while longer. I like the violet-studded backyard. I like reading out back, next to the flowerpots. I like the neighborhood, and the houses, and the river, and even the bottles in the fence. And in honor of the sunlight and the green up and down the street: