As you might have surmised from the title, I am having a problem with my neighbors. At least, I think I am. I dunno, I am not even sure if I even have neighbors, but there are houses on both sides of mine and, more often than I care to discover, that means people.

The problem I am having with my neighbors, if they, in fact, exist, is the idea that they are potentially always right fucking there. If I want to have a cookout — BOOM! — they could be there smelling my food. If I want to back out of my driveway without looking — BOOM!– possibly there creating a road hazard. If I want to step out into my own goddamn backyard and urinate under the stars (the way the mighty Jah intended, I might add), I have to swivel my head around like I am telling a dirty joke first to make sure the coast is clear. It’s like I am living in a prison.

The comforts of home can no longer be appreciated. I must take to the road to seek adventure and misery, thus making me appreciate that which I no longer have and allowing me to tolerate these intrusive bastards (should they turn out to actually be real) for another term.

The road beckons. Soon I will away.