New Neighbours

I got home tonight and my parents told me we were getting new neighbours. OK, I said. Like it matters who I occasionally have to wave to politely, or who has to act like it’s essential to have meaningless small talk meant to “catch up” whenever we have the misfortune of running into each other. They’re Indian, they said. Oh, I said. My reaction partly caused by the prospect of having to constantly spray the house with Febreeze to drown out the curry smell, and partly because, well, that really is news for us. The truth is that we don’t have Indians around here—at least on our street we don’t. There’s no shortage of Italians, though. They’ve been to Italy once but they’ll talk about it passionately and endlessly to anyone who’ll listen. You can’t say they’re not proud of their heritage. Anyway, for now it’s only one Indian guy. Maybe he wanted to ensure a smoother transition for us. I like him already. Apparently, he just ordered his wife from India. I thought that was fucking awesome. Anyone who signs up for marriage with a chick he’s never even seen is the type of guy I want to hang out with in Vegas. I’m already looking forward to hearing the newlyweds’ first argument through the walls. “You filthy whore! You look nothing like the girl on the picture your parents sent me!”

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1 Response to New Neighbours

  1. Daniel says:


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