My neighbor was doing his lawn work with his portable stereo blasting loud. Previous experiences told me that he would not turn the music down even if I asked nicely. My afternoon would be ruined if I didn?t do something.
Deciding to ask one more time before calling the cops, I walked over to where he was clipping his hedges. ?Nice afternoon,? I said.
?Yea,? he replied, still bobbing in time to the song blaring through the neighborhood.
I figured he might turn the music down if he was relaxing a bit instead of doing yard work. ?I got a few cold beers and some brats to grill. You interested??
He bobbed a little more. ?Sure, I thought you were just coming over to gripe about the music.?
Something about his smug attitude snapped my mild demeanor like a twig. Viciousness settled in.
About that time, a bright red, ?78 Pontiac Firebird cruised slowly past his drive. The T-tops were open to reveal a man in his early thirties with thick, long blonde hair, no shirt, and a deep tan. He glanced our way and then his eyes returned to the road.
I asked, ?Hey, isn?t that the guy that comes over to your house when you?re at work??
The neighbor?s eyes widened and he clenched his jaws tight. He slammed the shears together on some innocent shrub. ?I knew that bitch was cheating on me.? He threw the shears and ran across the yard trying to reach the red car.
The shears landed in the portable stereo, with a little help.
The neighborhood seemed much quieter once the police cars went away. I cracked a cold one and spent the rest of the day in my hammock.