My neighbors love to yell. They yell when they're angry. They yell when they're happy. The phrase, "Hey, kids! Dinner is ready!" is yelled with the same volume, tone, and inflection as the phrase, "Bitch, shut the fuck up!" Every day I hear the phrase, "Get in the house!" but I never know whether to interpret that as, "Get in the house ... the tacos are done ... " or "Get in the house ... I'm about to beat your ass."
They're having a bonfire right now. Well ... I think it's a bonfire. There's also a distinct possibility that they've set fire to their 1984 Dodge Caravan for the obvious insurance windfall. Bottom line? There's a fire.
Now ... the last bonfire that I went to was in September. There were hot dogs and marshmallows and chili ... two large friendly German shepherds ... forty or fifty people ... oh, and cold beer. I remember it was a relaxed, happy evening. I remember the baseball playoffs were going on because the guys were checking the score. Know what I don't remember?
I don't remember any toddlers crying inconsolably. I also don't remember anyone screaming, "Too fucking bad ... shut the fuck up!" I don't remember anyone shrieking that someone was a "retard." I don't remember anyone stealing someone's shoe off their foot and throwing it into the fire.
The cops aren't here yet ... but hey ... it's early. Just another Friday night on the North End ...
The East End boys and West End girls
In a West End town, a dead end world
The East End boys and West End girls
West End girls
Pet Shop Boys - West End Girls
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