So, we’re outside now (this is after the events of the last post have taken place). Chey is planting and weeding the gardens. Lila is riding on her bicycle with a child from the other end of the culd-de-sac. I’m walking around with Eva.

Some cars pull up to a house a couple doors down, and a loud and obnoxious group of men and women get out of the cars and start talking with each other very loudly, cackling, and shoving at each other in fun. It’s very clear that one of the men is quite drunk, as evidenced by his firm grasp on his beer bottle, his wobbly legs, and his insistence on shoving a woman around.

It’s about 4 pm on Sunday. Lovely.

I don’t understand.

I hate living so near so many people. Light fireworks, but not right outside our house. If you must be drunk and shove women around, at least don’t do that with my three year old daughter watching.

In my heart (yes, it is sinful), I want to put a bullet through his beer bottle and watch him wet himself as they scramble into their cars and drive off.

But that wouldn’t be very nice.