The Walk Home

I think that one of my next door neighbors may be a secret Nazi.

Maybe not so secret. Is it a secret if you have an Iron Eagle sticker on your mailbox?

I don’t know.

My overactive imagination has been running wild the past few weeks about this. I run possible options in my head while I walk past their door when I come home from work every day.

On the one hand they aren’t hurting anyone. On the other hand secret Nazi.

Do they have paraphernalia in their house? Are they holding super secret Nazi meetings in their apartment on the weekends? Planning some sort of secret Nazi attack on someone while I conjecture about if they are or not.

Are the FEDs gonna come busting into their apartment one day?

I’ll be on my way home, walking down the street, look over to see the Iron Eagle and bam. News reporters and men in riot gear and snipers on the rooftops across the street. I’ll have to say something like ‘I never thought this could happen to us, they seemed so nice.’

The worst part is I’m not even sure it’s supposed to be an Iron Eagle. I just think it is because I took a photo and used my expert photoshop/csi/science skills to put an actual photo, and the alleged photo that I took together. It looks close enough. But is it?

Also, if it isn’t I’m a complete and total jerk, psycho, quasi stalker, etc.

This isn’t the first time that I’ve done something like this, let my overactive imagination play tricks on me until I don’t know what is up or down.

A long time ago, I thought my next door neighbor was in the mob. I was convinced of this because they brought their work van home, and parked it up against their garage. Paranoid, impressionable young me looked in the back of the van one night and noticed that a man who worked for an alleged construction company had a considerable amount of rolled up carpets in the back. Why so many carpets? Why bring your work car home when you have a normal car?

It didn’t help that when he did decide to park in the street, he parked in such a way that I couldn’t pull out of my driveway. Obviously that man was Satan.

The old man who lived on the corner of my childhood home was another person I naturally assumed was in the mob. He was never home [probably in the hospital] and all of his things were boxed up in white boxes on top of the dining room table. For months. Obviously something nefarious was going on.

Maybe I left that really crappy movie with the kid who thinks his next door neighbor is a serial killer, on while falling asleep too many times.

Maybe I’m just a jerk who likes to invent stories.


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