He was coming down the hill, and the other was going up. They were on the other side of the street from one another (social distancing, you know). As they came almost parallel, each slowed, nodded, and issued greetings.

The man going down said, “How do you like your new car?”

“My car?”

“Isn’t the white Tesla your car?”

“How’d you know?”

“I live across the street from you, down one.”

“Of course. I thought it was you. I like the car, thanks. It’s different, but we’re getting used to it. How’s your arm? Looked like you broke it?”

“I did. It’s healed, but I’m still recovering. Do you have a new cat? Gray, with mittens?”

“Yes. Her name is Nezza. She’s a rescue from the shelter.”

“She looks sweet.”

“She is. Well, have a nice walk.”

“You, too.”

As each went on their way, they thought, I should have asked him his name. They almost turned around to do so, but didn’t. Maybe on another day. After all, they’d been neighbors for a few years. What difference did a name really make?

5 thoughts on “Neighbors

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  1. I thought this piece was really well written, because I think that writing dialogue is actually one of the hardest tasks. The writing has to play out as a natural rhythm in your head. I always have to hear it spoken in my head to want to write it. I always thought Michael Crichton was really great at writng dialogue.

    Liked by 1 person

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