Mine are lacking. C and I were sitting on our back porch, talking, when we hear “Hi” from beyond. It’s dark, and we can’t really see who it is.
“Hi,” we say, in what is probably not the most friendly voice.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I just moved in and wanted to say hello.”
We stand up and peer over the railing to the ground below. We’re on the first floor, but there’s an abrupt step of land just past our porch onto the wide strip of grass. There’s a guy standing there, looking awkward.
“Oh! Hello,” I say, trying to sound nicer. “I’m sorry, it’s just that people are usually stopping and asking me for a cigarette whenever I’m out here, or knocking on my door at 3 am asking if they can get a light.” This is completely true–a friend of our neighbor’s thinks that it’s perfectly fine to lean over my porch railing and knock on my back door if he sees my living room light on. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell him not to bother me that late.
“Seriously?” the guy laughs. “That’s sick. As you see, though, I already have a cigarette.”
C and I smiled at him and we started talking. He just moved in across the way and seems very nice. After a couple minutes he asked the question that people always ask because, well, they do.
“This might seem rude, but are yall together?”
“That’s funny. I have two other friends, and they’re lesbians too. I’m destined to only know lesbians.”
C says something about how we’re everywhere and he tells us that they mother him to death, which I find amusing.
Anyway, this guys seems pretty cool and I hope he stops by again. I’ll try to be nicer next time, I swear.