Do we do drama? Oh we do, we do, “It’s twoo, it’s twooooo…”
Just like every day/night, omg was sitting in the gazebo smoking menthols and pounding Buds until his toothless gums spat out incoherent nonsense. Sleep well my friend.
Despite this pace being out in the middle of cotton fields, its got a pretty diverse residency—there’s three blacks, three Hispanics, and six whites (a new white woman is moving in tomorrow I’m told). With tomorrow’s new addition, it will be five women to six men but that could change after omg vacates his place and his place gets fumigated so it can be rented.
There’s ten units here, four that are three-bedroom, six that are two-bedroom, all with fucked up patio doors as the only entrance.
Working clockwise, here’s the residents, 1-10. Vince, 1/3 of the blacks and the newest, must be 6’5 or 6’6, sometimes brings beer to the Boomers (even though he doesn’t drink) and the occasional pre-roll, likes to sit in his black Expedition and talk through the speaker; Sylvia and Tony, 2/3 of the Hispanics, everyone calls Sylvia the local mom as she’s always giving away food, “eat, eat” while no one knows what Tony does but local legend has it that he was on his way to the priesthood until he met Sylvia; Annette and David, 2/3 of the blacks—he’s gregarious and large, she’s petite, shy, and reserved, he says she’s got serious depression but he really likes my blues and jazz; me; Patty and Hank who have no relationship other than they share kin somehow and both work for our landlord; omg; Jojo, the raging lunatic, Jeff, the attorney and International Man of Mystery; and now, Flip, moving into #10.
About two hours ago, omg was on the phone with Billy complaining about this not being a party place since he and Patty moved out. IDK, I just came in from sitting with Vince (#1) and David (#3), talking about how graveyard shifts fuck up your sleep forever. My tunes were playing while we set a spell to talk like neighbors. Maybe not the party omg was looking for but it seemed like something to me.