The People Next Door (bp coyle)

A young couple moved in last year. Too many children to count. Not rude children, but not polite either. Children are like that now, they don’t show the respect that we did. They call me Mary, not Ms. Adams as they should. ‘Old Scary Mary’ when they think I can’t hear. They are in and out of my garden all day. All night. Fetching their ball. Letting their dog foul my grass. And the parents are drug dealers. Oh I have no doubt about it. Neither of them seem to work, yet they have plenty of money. Two cars, one almost new. They try to fool me. She is always asking if I need anything from the shops. I have days when it can be hard to get out.
She comes in to clean things, wash the dishes, the windows. She takes my curtains and puts them in with her laundry. I don’t know, I can’t see too well any more. Maybe they do need cleaning, maybe not.
It is all so I don’t notice what they are up to.
But I am watching through my binoculars from the bedroom window. I am writing everything down.