Neighborly Love

polar bearI blame the polar bear.

The newest addition sat in the middle of the lawn and rose above the roof line. Black eyes bore down on the crowd of gawkers, viagra sales seek a scarlet smile painted across its face. Its glowing torso had me wearing sunglasses whenever I gazed out of my picture window from across the street. The eye-sore loomed above the toddler-size train racing along a figure-eight track on its journey to nowhere. The tooting horn kept rhythm to the nauseating Christmas tunes blaring from loud speakers. Holiday lights blanketed the house and lawn like a Monet painting on steroids.

A police cruiser arrived. Its front tire jumped the curb. The officers got out and waded through the field of candy cane cutouts and jolly-faced characters held erect by wooden stakes. One of them found the bear’s motor. It whined for the last time then fell silent. Hissing – the bear bent forward. Its nose dove for the ground.

Buster T. Boggs came into view. The crowd gasped. Mothers scurried away with their children. My neighbor dangled a few feet from the roof, cialis sales sildenafil suspended by a noose of twinkling Christmas lights. A metal ladder lay on the ground beneath him. The top half bent at an angle. The larger cop waved his arms. He urged the crowd to disperse. A siren bleated in the distance.

I turned away from the window and dropped the screwdriver in my toolbox. They’ll find the missing screws when the snow melts. If anyone asks – the polar bear did it.

 

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