1911. Crazy bitch opened her bright blue alley way light above the side door of the garage.
1910. Dad turns on garage light to adjust the wooden table, which I moved away from the door to the front of the computer monitor, which I turned on the view the activity of the crazy bitch living next door to us.
1900. Mom and I made our way safely at home after parking my car off the side street.
1855. After delivering Costco food gifts (butter croissant and leche flan), and our hand cut chayote squash to Edna C, the widow for her 75th birthday exactly today, we encountered the parked maroon Dodge caravan # 698 on my drive and under the eucalyptus tree.
I passed that crazy bitch and parked on our right driveway and she immediately parked inside the left garage. She was stalking us again. But the mediators, lawyers, police, Masonic assholes don’t believe unto moi.
Mom said she’s inside but I decided to reverse without the headlights and take off eastbound on MY long stretch of road. Mom said that I must make a u-turn, thinking she’d follow us. She didn’t.
I turned right and northbound the rue and parked off the road without my headlights turned on, to observe that she’s still inside the caravan with the brake lights turned on.
I thought, hey, I’m gonna park on our side street, and let her depressurize her crazy brain for a few more minutes. I didn’t want mom to freeze in the cold night.
Mom and I went inside the house. For five minutes, I watched the monitor and she went to the white Honda CR-V, parked in front.
She’s hesitated as I sent her crazy brain the images of me practicing at church for tomorrow’s choir mass.
She turned from the Honda and then checked her mailbox. She hesitated again as walked towards the Honda again.
I continued to send her strong images of my rehearsing at church, all the while I observed her through out ADT security camera. (I pay around ten dollars monthly for an online “service”, that allows for Wi-Fi observation. So the NSA and pals can observe, too assumed.)
She went back inside the garage, which was still opened. Then, Dad had enough of this silliness, and proceeded to put on his black hoodie jacket and go out to pretend and check his mailbox while staring down inside her opened garage.
He was ensuring my safety (in case she comes out with her pruning sheer and cuts away the severely pruned avocado tree. We fear she may throw knives in our direction. That’s the potential of her terrorizing us.)
While Dad hovered near his mailbox, I quickly parked my car from our side street and into our right driveway.
Thanks, Dad! I love you. But I hate my community for putting up with her shit. I’m not gonna forgive this place, ever! Hiss.
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