Ahh, life in “The Crick.” It’s not a fancy neighborhood, but it’s nice enough, and safe. I like it here, because if I don’t feel like landscaping the front yard for thirteen years nobody cares. They like me anyway. Here in The Crick it’s live and let live.
Life in The Crick is good. You can ask the neighbors if they have a slice of bread because “the plumbers need it to weld something” and nobody blinks an eye at the absurdity of it. They just hand over their last loaf of bread and tell you to take what you need.
If you don’t have time to mow your yard…then don’t. No one will be out there with a measuring tape scolding you if your grass is a bit overgrown. We’ve got bigger problems, like the crazy old man that lives in the driveway, in the bed of his pickup truck under a tarp.
If you want to put up a ten foot fence, then you go right ahead. Sure it’s gaudy, and all of us are laughing at you when it blows over in the first windstorm, but nobody will hate on you for it. We’ll make a toast to your stupidity and move on with our lives. We’re more concerned about the inbreeders down the way and the one guy’s unusual relationship with his cat.
If your dogs bark, non-stop, all day…don’t even worry about it. We can’t tell which of the million barking dogs is actually yours anyway. We’re more interested in So-And-So’s crazy friend lying in the middle of the road. We’re trying to figure out if he’s high, or suicidal…we really can’t tell.
If it makes you happy to leave the Christmas lights up all year ’round, nobody gives a real shit. Congratulations, your house is the most festive house in the neighborhood. Good on you! We’re not talking about you anyway…we’re too busy discussing the little boy down the road, who’s friendly neighborhood greeting is a tiny middle finger held high in the air. Cute kid…
I’m pretty sure someone around here has a goat. We don’t care. We’re just over here wondering if we can get goat’s milk at a discount. I don’t have time to worry about it, I’m too busy yelling “Thank you” across the way to the neighbor who was thoughtful enough to make me a daiquiri and send it over. Life is good.
So here’s to life in The Crick. The only subdivision I’d ever fit in with. Where the crazies hide on the rooftop from the police, and the word “f**k” isn’t offensive. The smell of steaks on the grill and pot in the air permeate every corner of the neighborhood. We invite ourselves over to that one house on the block where all the neighbors seem to end up congregating. We drink and we laugh…well mostly I drink and we laugh…we bitch and we moan. I’ll miss it when it’s time to go.