An afternoon on the front porch of the front house.

I hear a light grating sound, and I look out at the big tree out by the front curb, and this squirrel is out on the trunk way up it scooting up the trunk and dragging up behind it a big paper chocolate wrapper with some metal still left inside of it, before it takes it out on a branch and noses into it and then drops it like twenty-five feet to the ground.

And, it then runs down the tree and around a little bit on the street, and once out by where the chocolate bar wrapper had fallen, but it never goes over right there to touch it again.

Later, the (older) (white) (dyed blonde hair) replacement postal lady comes by to deliver mail, and we talk about the weather.

"This is perfect," she was like, "Sixty, seventy degrees. Anything more than that, and it's too much for a fat girl like me."

I also mentioned the mosquito problem on the street, and I said that it confused me since there didn't seem to be any standing water anywhere, and so she reached out her hand and pointed over to across the street to where the wizened old hippie lives, and she was like, "She's a hoarder," and she reminded me that we don't know what she has sitting out in her backyard.