Neighbours

I puffed away first thing, I didn't even bother to get out of my robe. When the sloth sets in, the sloth sets in, what can I say? It was what I got from Jenny The Jehovis Witness a few days ago. She does a great trade in our neighbourhood.

“Can I introduce you to god?” Jenny the Jehovis Witness would ask

“No, thanks.”

“No? Well, how about introduce you to heaven?” She was quite cheeky with it.

“I’m sorry?”

“I have some great choof?” Jenny the Jehovis Witness would say next.

I liked her instantly.

The first thing I did was turn the coffee machine on and head outside to have a smoke on my balcony. Saying good morning to Bruno, across the road on his balcony, with him responding by lifting a finger in my direction.

I sat on the wicker chairs and rolled a j. The day went by oblivious in the street below.

I pretty much wanted a second j immediately after I had finished the first. I can't be that person again, I told myself.

I went and got my coffee. And a buttered fruit scone, which I’d made when I got up at sparrow’s fart. I used to sleep until midday easily, and I can’t really remember when it changed, but now I am up before the sun comes up.

Then, I ignored myself and rolled another j.

“Hey,” Bruno yelled out to me.

“Yeah, what?”

“You roll me a,” he did parenthesis in the air, “lovely morning?”

“Yeah, sure, but I’m not brining it over to you.”

“No problem, I’ll come and get it.”

“It’s ready.”

Then Bruno was running across the street between his house and mine in just his white Calvin’s. His hairy chest and hairy stomach, and his thick hairy thighs, not to mention his big dick bouncing around in his briefs with every dainty tip toe step he took, on full display.

I opened my front door. “I see you got dressed up for the occasion.”

“What to run from here to there, Jesus, Jeremy, you have to be kidding me.”

“You are not hiding anything, that is for sure.”

“Jesus fucken Christ I wear less on the beach.”

I handed him a couple of Js I’d rolled.

“You are a goddam gentlemen,” he said.

“Not working today?”

“Nah, the factory has laid us off, you know the Liberal Party privatisation when they said no one would lose their jobs?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, that didn’t account for the mostly casual work force that lost their shifts rather than their jobs, as such.”

“Conservative politicians can’t tell the truth, not unless it is for their own personal wealth, and even then…”

“Duplicitous liars, don’t you mean.”

We both laughed.

“I’m getting my own back on the conservative cunts, though.”

“How’s that?”

“I’m getting the dole instead of working, and I get mum and dads superannuation now that they are locked away in Uncle Luigi’s nursing home, La Tua Cura Homes.”

“How did you mange that?”

“It’s a family, Jeremy. Donta you worry about anythink, boy, saida Luigi. I takea good care ofa them. And the government she will pay for it.”

“Good for you, it can’t always be the rich who rip off society.”

“And the house isn’t in my name, so it doesn’t affect my payments.”

We both laughed again. Cackled might have been more the term for it. You have to love it when some of the average people win some times.

Then Bruno tip toed back across the street. I watched his big beefy arse wiggle in his white briefs with each step he took, running tip toe back across the bitumen.

Then I rolled another J for myself and I had heavy eye lids in no time sitting back in the chair gazing out into the street, sipping my coffee, being careful not to let my robe fall open and flash the world. I really should go and put track pants on, I thought, before Bruno gets an eyeful. I wondered if he could see that much from his vantage point?

Not that I really cared. Don’t look neighbours. Or look. I don't really give a toss.

“Hey Jeremy,” Bruno called out some time later, how long I couldn’t tell you.

“Yeah Bruno? What?”

“You wouldn't be fucken dead for quids, now would ya?”

“No, Bruno, I wouldn’t.”

“Life’s good.”

“Yeah, Bruno, life is good.”

Bruno talking again made me aware all over again that he was just over the way, so I stumbled back in my French Doors and pulled on a black pair of track pants and a grey hoodie. Different colours, as I’d just heard an, I did parenthesis in my head, expert, saying how men shouldn’t wear matching tops and bottoms when in track suits, the contrast is much more flattering.

I looked at myself in my full length mirror. I laughed at the vanity of it, but thought it did look better, more stylish, less daggy, less like Uncle Brian at a family BBQ telling homophobic stories to whoever would listen. I always wanted to say to him, let's talk about your emotional cruelty to Aunt Lois, but I was too young back then.

I stepped out onto the balcony feeling like a super model. Bruno wolf whistled from across the street.

“Just getting ready to face the day,” I called across the street to him.

“Very nice,” he said. Still just wearing a pair of tighty whities.

“Thanks,” I called back across the street.

“I wonder what the poor people are doing, hey Jeremy?” said Bruno.

“Living miserable fucken lives, Bruno, that’s what they are doing.”

“Ain’t that the fucken truth,” Bruno called back.

“Ain’t it,” I replied.

Bruno held a splif up in the air. “Here’s to ripping the system off so effectively to have a better fucken life.” He took a big drag on his doobie.

“Everyone should be doing it!” I dragged on the doobie of my own.

We both blew out lungsful of smoke in unison.

Then we both broke up laughing at our own cleverness.