The lady down the street keeps trying to get me inside her house, but I am pretty sure it is not to see her taint. She always has some excuse, like she found a stray cat that needs help or she baked too many cookies and cannot possibly eat them all. Her curtains are always twitching when I walk by, and she gives me this little wave that is just a bit too friendly. Last week she asked if I could help her move a "very heavy box of family heirlooms" from her attic. I told her my back was fucked. She just smiled and said, "Oh, what a shame. Perhaps another time when you are feeling... more flexible." Yeah, I am good. I keep my walks short and my head down. I am not trying to be part of whatever weird suburban horror story she is writing in her head.