I love my bedroom for a couple of reasons: It’s the coldest room in the house in the summer (and the warmest in winter), thanks to the way the ductwork is set up, and the east-facing window helps me wake up in the mornings thanks to hardcore a.m. sun exposure.
But the window also faces the street, which means that if I’m at my desk or even lounging on the bed, I’m confronted by glimpses of what’s going on in the neighborhood (or at least this sliver of it). For example, once I realized that there’s a guy who runs laps around the block, it became entertaining to watch his lap-by-lap devolution until it ends in the familiar “oh my God, please let this be the last time around” stagger.
And last week, I realized that the neighbors across the street were moving quite a lot of stuff out of the house’s mother-in-law quarters. “Ooh, maybe she died,” I thought, cringing. I don’t know the family well — I know the dad’s first name, and there’s a kid, a wife and a mother-in-law, but in the eight-plus years I’ve lived in Casa Flor, I’ve never done anything more than the friendly “hello” wave. So it’s not like I could rush out and ask what the dealio was.
A day or two later, I noticed they were still moving stuff out — from everywhere. I’d never seen a “for sale” sign up, so I texted Mr. Brooks with my odd observation. A few days later he found out that the family is indeed moving — the father told him that their bank sold the house out from underneath them, which I think sounds specious. Does that actually happen, unless you’re defaulting on payments?
The dad also dropped a little nugget that started with the phrase “Ever since [name] sued us for back child care,” and when Mr. Brooks relayed that info to me later, we were like:
|WHAT SAM WORE: 5-12-13|
|The shirt: Ringer tee by Urban Renewal, from Urban Outfitters in Tempe.|
|The shorts: Cutoff cords, on clearance at Lucky Brand in Chandler.|
|The shoes: Flip-flop sandals, from Old Navy in Phoenix.|