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some old bullshit

Neighbours

Not the TV show, the people. I don’t know mine at all, on either side, so imagine my surprise when yesterday one handed me a bag over the wall as I walked to my car.

“I thought you might want this,” she goes. I don’t know her name. “Alan doesn’t use it any more.”

Alan, I’m pretty sure, is her husband, but the only dealing I’ve had with them was when their gardener was hacking at a disputed hedge like a dick, when they first moved in about six years ago. Never spoken since so being handed a bag was out of the blue. Anyway, took the bag and had a look inside and it’s a towel or something.

“Oh thanks!” I go, not having a fucking clue what’s going on.

“I see you practising,” she adds with a smile. Her nose scrunched up a bit.

Okay. Well, I’m a runner. She must see me going out running. I go everyday. I sweat and need a towel. Yeah… that kind of makes sense. I guess.

I get in my car, drive off, down to the front where I go for a run. I had my own towel in the car. On my run I’m thinking about her scrunched up nose. It was a bit… it was like a pity smile.

I get back and bring the bag in and it’s not a towel, of course it’s not, who the fuck would have given somebody they barely know a towel! No, it’s not a towel because that would be weird. THIS, I think at first, is a white bathrobe. Okay, that’s even crazier than a towel but hold on! They’re separates!

It’s a fucking karate suit.

A fucking karate suit.

I’ve never done karate in my life. She’s seen me practising? Do what now? What the fuck?

This morning I’m walking to my car which I park near the wall. Every fucking morning there are massive spider webs between the car and the wall. As I was chopping at them I hear a shout from her house of, “go on, Daniel-San!”

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