I was taking my trash out to the alley trash bin only to discover it was full. So I walked to another trash bin past one of the rent houses in the neighborhood, realizing that I had no idea who lived there.
In years past I've gotten to know some of the folks in that house.
There were the folks who built a big bonfire in their driveway.
They were trying to burn up a surplus of tumbleweeds. Fire trucks arrived on the scene. Our new neighbors didn't understand what all the fuss was about. It seems they had always burned brush and trash back in the outback of where they came from.
There was the guy who talked on the phone in his driveway in hushed tones. I often wondered why he didn't talk in his home, he lived there alone.
I actually got to know one guy who moved into the rent house.
Let's call him Mike. Mike had moved into town from the backroads of the High Plains.
"I lived in the country for years and nothing ever happened to my truck," Mike told me one time. "I've been in town three months and my truck's been hit three times parked right in front of my house."
I liked having Mike in the neighborhood. Some other folks moved into another rent house in the neighborhood and they were kind of rowdy, having lots of loud parties. In a couple of weeks they weren't rowdy anymore.
"Oh, that was me," said Mike while I was talking to him one day.
"They probably got tired of having the cops called on them. I'd call the police and complain about the noise and add, 'And I think I smell marijuana.' Ooo-ee, that got them here fast."
"WAS there marijuana?" I asked.
"I said I THOUGHT I smelled marijuana," he laughed.
Maybe I should bake some cookies and take them to the new neighbors.
Grant McGee is a long-time broadcaster and former truck driver who rides bicycles and likes to talk about his many adventures on the road of life.
Contact him at: firstname.lastname@example.org.