As I sat at my kitchen table I noticed a man in the neighbor’s back yard. Dressed head to toe in black, he looked suspicious. I tried to see what he was carrying as he walked from the house three doors up from mine. That home has been shelter to one group of reprobates after another. King James would say, “Lewd fellows of the baser sort.” Their front porch has become a gathering place for questionable activities. I haven’t noticed the latest “family” to occupy the home. I wonder what they’re up to and how long they’ll stay.
“Probably until the landlord kicks them out,” I thought to myself.
Is he hanging clothes on the line? Well look at that. He sure is. Good gracious! It’s thirty-seven degrees with a stiff cold wind. I bet he’s freezing with that bundle of wet clothes up next to himself. He needs a laundry basket… and some clothespins. He’s just flipping the wash over the line. There’s girl stuff too. I used my stealthy detective skills to figure that out. He does not look like the kind of man to wear a pink blouse. Speaking of which, I need to pick David up a shirt for an upcoming wedding.
Look at that! Two whole lines of clothes after multiple trips from the house. Bless his heart. Any man who will hang laundry out cannot be all bad. Suddenly I feel like Gladys Kravitz on Bewitched.
Maybe I should bake them some chocolate chip cookies and welcome them to the neighborhood.
But what if they don’t like chocolate chip cookies?
I certainly don’t want to assume too much.