New next-door neighbors times two. Moose puppy gets in a tussle with a Pit Bull. I was in the middle. (All unrelated to those new next-door neighbors.) And FYI. If a doctor even thinks it a dog bite, she won’t stitch you up unless one’s skin is, “really flappin’.”
Got a new novel protagonist, but he is all that and this, but he’s nowhere near participating in a this, then that. So. So what? Just another guy with an intriguing backstory.
Meanwhile, back to the new neighbors. More than nice enough, but they bring baggage. More children. Loud little people. And while I’m pro procreation, I’m anti Disney only dialogue, as one can begin to feel a bit, Frozen out.
And a guy, mid-block, just listed his pile for one million seven. He won’t get it, but he could get one/five. And that only serves to harden the tax accessor. So we’re thinking of moving.
From the inner-city up to the North Shore. Which will assuredly bore. But thinking of a flat within a Village Square. There are a few tony little neighborhood bars there, with top shelf booze and banter. And I could stand a pour or two of that.