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2001-09-27 - 2:14 p.m.

Today, I want to tell you about my next door neighbors. If I paid a little more attention to them, I could probably write a book about them. They scare me.

I used to work for my dad�s real estate law firm in my early 20s. His partner was fond of passing cheap sales for poor people, so that brought in a few less than savory clients. There was one particularly unsavory bunch named The Zuppardos. My friend and I used to duck in the supply room and whisper about them whenever they would show up. A few years later, I moved into my apartment. And it actually took me months to figure out that I was living next door to The Zuppardos�

The Homestead: An old ramshackle white wooden one story house with peeling paint. Small messy yard with a chain link fence. Big garage which is usually open, facing out from the side of the house.

The Yapping Monsters: At last count, there were four. Two Min-Pins and two of the most densely-packed Chihuahuas you�ve ever seen. As you�d expect, they are yippy and mean-seeming.

The Father: I don�t see him much, and I imagine he is the most normal. He repairs things like jukeboxes, coke machines, and videogames. He is tall and thin with white hair. He drives an old Lincoln Town Car or something like that. In fact, I see him so infrequently, I�m not sure he actually lives there, or is even still alive.

The Mother: She is about 4�5, and ten times as mean as the dogs. She�s got long grey hair which is always in a ponytail. She�s husky, and waddles a bit, but it does not slow her down. She screams at The Cabbie in the front yard. She goes places with The Girl. I�ve seen them together at the neighborhood grocery. She�s the kind of person who never has a nice word to say. Constantly miserable � screaming and complaining because it�s the only thing she knows how to do.

The Girl: She definitely does NOT live there, but she comes by to visit every now and then. She briefly worked at my favorite Thai restaurant, and my friends had some nasty things to say about her. I don�t know how they knew her, but apparently, they�d had dealings with her in the past. She does not smile, and is certainly headed on the path to becoming The Mother.

The Cabbie: Also known as Dingle-Dangle (for his Hitler Moustache). He looks a bit like Mr. Creosote from �Monty Python�s The Meaning of Life.� He�s got longish (but not long) greasy black thinning hair and a portly build. He�s probably in his late 30s. I�ve seen him in several different kinds of cabs � he may moonlight. Sometimes, he does strange things like park in the driveway next door (not his). He sits in his cab for long periods of time, and on more than one occasion, I�ve seen him asleep in his cab. I�m not sure, but I feel like it is related to the screaming fights I�ve witnessed with The Mother. One morning, as I was leaving for work, I noticed him parked in front of my house sleeping in his cab. But the way his head was leaned back over the seat with his gaping mouth facing upwards, he looked dead! I told Leslie about it a few hours later, and she said she had stopped by my house about an hour after I left to drop something off and she saw him and thought the same thing. I suspect he still lives there, though I have not seen him in awhile. I did, however, see a cab parked around the corner this morning. Maybe he has to park far away to make room for his brother�s vehicle.

The Brother: He is the biggest enigma of all! He is not outright disgusting like Dingle Dangle. In fact, if I saw him somewhere other than next door, I might actually think he was sort of cute-ish. That is what disturbs me the most. However, given that he is a Zuppardo, he stands NO chance whatsoever. I think he is probably in his late 20s or early 30s. He�s always lived there, and I see him the most often, but until recently, I never knew what he did. Now I do. It�s hard to miss the giant Fruit Truck that�s been parking on my street these last few months. The best part is that about 3 weeks ago, I was driving in an area of town I am NEVER in during afternoon hours. The hours when fruit trucks are most busy. I saw a fruit truck and thought, I always mean to stop at one of those and get something. I didn�t stop because I didn�t have cash. And thank all the Gods on Olympus I didn�t because it wasn�t just ANY fruit truck, it was The Fruit Truck and there was The Brother handing a bag of something to a totally unwary customer. And that is when I noticed he has this weird little thing he does where he shakes his head, perhaps to get his long bangs out of his face. It was a bit too familiar. The other night, I was walking Penelope a little later than usual, and I heard one of the Yapping Monsters in The Yard. I looked over at it and quietly muttered �goober.� Then my eye caught something and looking up, there he was, The Brother, hiding in the shadows of the doorway looking at me. I think he looks at me more often than I am aware of. He�s the only Zuppardo that has acknowledged my existence.

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