A big fat white trash woman lives across the street from me. Her house is the worst on the block. She bought it in foreclosure for a song.
There are bars on the windows. And the siding is periwinkle. No. Robin's egg. No.
Plain old light blue. And badly faded by the sun.
The big fat white trash woman has mental issues. She wears sweats and black tshirts to garden. There are a bunch of weird sores or something on her face. She always acts exhausted.
She never leaves the house.
Her old fat mother brings her groceries.
She has a little white trash son. No daddy. I used to be semi-okay with them until one day I told the boy to get out of the street. This was becuz cars were stopping. The big fat white trash lady got mad about it and said he can do whatever he wants.
He is five and as pale as a cave fish. He has long blond hair. He is very ugly. In a neighborhood full of kids, no children want to play with him. So he stands there and yells and begs to go here and there. And all the kids pretend not to hear him. They want none of it. Dude hits. And does not share. And is weird.
So, as a result, he is always standing on his curb begging to come to my house. I used to say no when the kids asked me after he guilted them into it but now I ignore him. I can't answer his two questions eighty times in a row. I do not have the answers he needs.
Nowadays, dude shoots his little toy guns at me for so long I wonder why his hands don't cramp up.
Last Saturday night, he called my name for two str8 hours. And told me that I was going to get into trouble becuz of my firepit.
The cops even drove by. We were like hmm.
Oh also, the white trash lady sat on her stoop and glared at me the entire night.
I used to talk to her but she kept acting too crazy so I stopped.
Now I am the focus of her madness.
This is my life. Drink it in. Rub it all over your body.