Love thy moronic possible drug dealers

The child-sized wind chimes
Are not wind chimes for children
They are three feet tall

So we have these new neighbors. Two old-ish dudes in jumpsuits, one much younger blonde lady. They drive a Bentley, a Lexus with tags that say “2lucky,” and a gigantic red truck (a given for Texas).

This is not a Bentley neighborhood. Not even an 80s Bentley neighborhood. It is an Altima neighborhood. A used, but in good shape, Volvo neighborhood.

The Bentley’s house is rented. I know this because Joe, the owner, is in Dallas now, living with his mom and girlfriend, having decided home ownership is too gross for him when it means keeping the gutter clean in order to keep your garage from flooding.

Anyway, I’m wondering if the Bentley’s are only here for a short time. That would be sad because they are fun to spy on.

I am guessing they are mobsters in the witness protection program and the truck is their beard.

Or maybe they are down-on-their luck drug dealers.

Either way, they are attracting way too much attention to themselves. The three foot wind chimes hanging on their front balcony make the entire neighborhood sound like KMart’s garden section. Or like there is a church and it is 759 o’clock. The chimes are so loud they are interfering with nap time.

If I wasn’t afraid of accidentally walking in on everyone dressed in leopard underpants, laying on bearskin rugs, and enjoying some blow off of each other’s asses, I would ask them to please mute the chimes.

As it is I am trying to make the chimes encourage some zen-ness in me.

Except they may make me go crazy. Then I will have to run over there and hack at them (the wind chimes, not the possibly leopard-underpanted neighbors) with a small hand mallet.

Not very zen.

Oh, Joe, why forsake the street gutter? Why? Just buy some gloves, you pansy.

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