I have a neighbor. The kind that wears wife-beaters (is one, cops have visited on several occasions), yells like Limbaugh and proudly displays a W sticker on his mid-70’s truck that barely runs. The same truck that caught fire last week. The same truck that is moved back and forth only for street cleaning and nothing more (and not in his driveway). The same truck that when started, fills my studio with horrible exhaust fumes. The same truck that he stores all his crap for the dump in the back of and never takes for weeks on end. The same truck with the faulty e-brake that went through my backyard fence. I wasn’t home when it happened this morning at oh, 6am. Thank goodness, I might have had a heart-attack. My landlord is out front waiting for the police to file a report. He, conveniently isn’t home.