So, we have these new neighbors. Okay, they're not much newer than us, but for the life of me I can't figure out how many of them there are. At last count ... 2 very verbal dogs, 1 aloof cat, 3 redheads, 1 shirtless (and wordless) wanderer, 2 older men, and 1 baby. In a three bedroom apartment. We call it the clown house.
The shirtless wanderer sings meditative songs and boxes his shadow in the window at night after walking around sans shirt (and almost sans pants) with one of the dogs. He doesn't talk much.
Two of the redheads must be 60-something sisters. They have thick accents from somewhere cityish like Boston, or Milwaukee, or Brooklyn. One of them sits and feed the baby. The other one yells, "oh, shaddup!" to the vicious white ball of fur that threatens to tear our throats out every time we walk by. Yes, she says "shaddup," and that's how it's spelled. I'd say "shut up," but then, who am I to tell her how to talk?
The youngest redhead is haggard and worn out (from dealing with her clan and her baby, no doubt.) She wears loose, comfortable clothing, and I always have the impression she needs to go somewhere and is just in between places.
The two older gentlemen are chauffeurs, I think, and baby tote-ers. The baby is happily unaware.
As for the black cat? It comes and goes. Where to, nobody knows, and it's green eyes won't tell.