My Neighbor

I was standing on my neighbor’s porch. It was 4 am in the morning. 
My neighbor, bleary eyed. Incredulous. Confused by the site of me, bright eyed and bushy-trailed standing in front of him, asks: What the hell are you doing?
His eyes are red slits. There is a little bit of dried drool in the corner of his mouth. 
I tell him in a voice that I hope carries morning cheer.


I came to borrow some sugar!


I could see that his brain gears were slipping — whatever dream he had just been having was still rolling around in his brain. Clearly I didn’t fit into that dream.

“Can I have some sugar. PLEEEEZE?”

“Will it get you off my porch?”


He takes my cup and shuffles back, closing the screen door.

To hurry him along, I sing loudly: “SUPERCALAFRAGALISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS…”

Lights go on in a few houses around us. I start dancing to my little song.

When he comes back, he has my cup full of sugar.

“Here! Here’s your damn sugar! CAN YOU GO HOME NOW? PLEASE?”

“Aww. Easy buddy. You know you’re my favorite little neighbor!”

He glares at me — his eyes can’t quite focus yet, so it’s like he’s glaring at someone over my right shoulder.

“GOOD NIGHT!” He says.


My neighbor slams the door and I can hear his slippered feet softly stomping back up the stairs.

I take the sugar, and start walking back to my house. On the way, I stop at his car, remove the gas cap, and pour the sugar into his tank.

I love my neighbor.

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