Last night I get home around 6:30 or so and my neighbor’s dogs, two doors down, are going absolutely ape shit. Barking for hours! I finally get fed up because they’re making my dog anxious and he’s pacing around the house driving me nuts. I call the Washoe County Animal Control around 8:30. I hate doing it, but these dogs are going crazy and you can’t get near the house to knock on the door. The animals are not on leashes and they’re running around the guy’s yard within a short chain linked fence. The animal control is real helpful (sarcasm) because they only mail the warnings! Damn lot of good that’s gonna do me at the moment. The lady on the phone wants an address. Fuck, I don’t know! Two doors down. I run outside and these animals are just barking and yelping and sounding distressed. The house is pitch black. This giant beast runs up to the fence where I’m trying to read the address and scares the shit out of me. The lady on the phones says “wow, they’re pretty loud” no shit Sherlock. It’s then that I detect the distinct odor of natural gas. Great, just what I need. I’m sniffing around and it is clearly gas, but no idea where it’s coming from.
I run up to my next door neighbor’s house and knock on the door. He opens the door and a cloud of cigarette smoke hits me like wall of tear gas. Probably Pall Malls. Standing in there is this skinny wreck of a man with a smoke in his mouth and wearing a postman’s uniform. His shirt is all unbuttoned and and hair is all matted and sweaty and he smells like beer. His sunken eyes are staring at me like I’m the Antichrist or something. I ask if he smells gas. He pokes his head out, cigarette still in his mouth, and says no. He then juts his bony hand out and says “hey man, I’m Bob (not really, I’ve forgotten it already) I’m your mail man! Come on in. You want to see my Mustang? I just got it back. Been 35 days since I wrecked it coming back from the hospital. My girlfriend got brain damage slipping on the ice on Thanksgiving. She’s now in a nursing home” He leads me to the back of the house. There’s no furniture but a chair and a tv. Nasty stains on the floor. Kitchen is empty. We head out to the garage. “it’s not a mustang, man, it’s a Cobra GT. I was coming back from the hospital and lost control when I hit some ice. I don’t remember any of it. It was crumpled all the way up to here” he points to the back of the front wheels. I’m desperately trying to find a point in his yammering where I can get the hell out of here! He thrusts out his hand again “great to meet you. I’m your mailman you know.” Christ get me outta here I’m thinking. I tell him I was thinking of calling animal control, but feel bad about it because someone did that to me. He says “yeah, I know, I delivered the notice, I’m your mailman. You know I got bit by a couple of pit bulls…” Wow. Creepy. I leave, but not before he thrust out his skinny hand a gain.
Today I head out the door, Bob is sitting on his front stoop, classic rock blaring out his front door. He turns to me and says “hey man, did you figure out what happened over there?” Perfectly friendly tone. I said I hadn’t. He can’t hear me over the music. “Well, don’t ever knock on my door again…it’s weird.” I said ok then! “those dogs were barking all night, man”. I made a speedy exit on my motorcycle. What a fucking freak.
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