Halfway House to Freedom

My neighbors took to the Good Samaritan Highway immediately. It even inspired the owner of a certain abandoned Ford Explorer to surface. The owner, a man in his early 20’s, is one of the many colorful part-time residents staying sporadically at the apartment Charlene and I refer to as the ‘Halfway House’.

Since their arrival, the occupants of the Halfway House have contributed a new and distinct flavor to our otherwise quiet and peaceful community in the form of litter in the parking lot, vandalism, car break-ins, home invasions, and police raids, just to name a few.

Despite all the trouble they cause, Charlene and I always smile and say, “Hi, How are you?” whenever we see any of the suspicious characters coming and going to and from the Halfway House.  Zigzag, on the other hand, prefers to exhibit her massive teeth and says, “If you come near me, my family, or my home, I’ll fucking tear your head off!” So far we haven’t had any problems with anyone living there.

The parking lot had, at last, been cleared of abandoned vehicles. By that time, unfortunately, the plows had already headed home for the night. I headed home too. 

The next morning, Charlene and I heard what sounded like a Sherman tank entering our parking lot. Cheering ensued a few seconds later. I peered out the window to check it out. Low and behold, the monster of all snowplows had just arrived.

Just about every one of our neighbors seemed to be outside for this grand event. They clapped and waved and banged their snow shovels together in the air. I even heard a small group of them singing ‘Kumbaya’. It was if they had just been rescued after spending six seasons on the tv series ‘Lost’.