My neighborhood, small and modest, is full of larger than life, exuberant personalities. There's Jeff, the "Mayor of Norvell," who used to operate trains, walks around in his torn shorts, sandals, and ponytail, works on his VW bus frequently, brings over microbrews for Keegan and homemade Chicken Enchiladas and Easter ham for me and Liam. There's Grace, who works on her yard starting at 6 in the morning, brings over half dead plants and insists that I plant them in my yard, pulls weeds in other peoples' yards, brings in other peoples' garbage bins, sometimes looks right at me and ignores me and other times chats Liam's ear off for twenty minutes. There's Virginia, who lives next to us, has 4 kids, at least 10 grandkids, and 10 great grandkids, knows everything about us even if we haven't told her, and who one day we caught peeking out her window at us at 6 in the morning as we packed the car for a ski trip. Then there's the house across the street. A rental. Transients. And who apparently are parking this big silver bullet in front of our house now indefinitely. Creepy.