Neighbourly by Sheridan “Virgil” Seine

I’m new to the neighbourhood, and work night shift. Lately, I’m waking up to footsteps and a knock outside my bedroom window.

Wilson, my always smiling, retired neighbour, is on the other side of the glass; a wide-eyed stare coming through the blinds, the afternoon sun on his face. Chuckling, he reminds me that the grass needs to be cut.

But I’m on vacation this week and it’s the middle of the night.

I roll over in bed, and my eyes drift to the window at my shoulder. A bug-eyed smile just outside says, “Not yet. Go back to sleep.”