Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Thought you might like to meet my neighbors…














Apt. 3C:

This is DeShaun Jackson. I’m pretty sure he is a crack dealer, for several reasons:
1. Because he is black.
2. …well…there isn’t really a number two…

You can usually find DeShaun hanging out on the stoop out front smoking Newport’s and asking passers-bye, “What’cha need?”
















This is Kenisha Washington. She’s DeShaun’s baby-momma. Well one of them, anyway. She drops off their son, Tyrell, in the mornings before heading off to work at the Au Bon Pain located in Port Authority.

DeShaun doesn’t work, per se, so he has plenty of time to watch little Tyrell. He’s a pretty good dad. He takes him to the park around the corner and plays basketball with him, only occasionally stopping to ask the white-preppy NYU students who pass by, “What’cha need?”



















Apt. 4F:

Mrs. Romano. Her husband, Giovanni, just passed away. He was a nice man, always had spaghetti sauce drippings on his white undershirt. She’s always telling me what a Saint of a man her Giovanni was. Which I find a bit confusing, since when he was alive they argued all the time. She even threw a pot of hot meatball sauce on him once during a fight.















Apt. 1A:

This is my landlord. Al-Heratt Bali Abbas-Sashimi, something or other. He doesn’t speak much English and his apartment smells like curry, but he always helps me fix my leaky faucet.














Apt. 2D:

Mr. and Mrs. Spiegelawitzkyavitz. (and no, Ninj, I am not related. Fucker.) They are nice enough, always inviting me over for Lox and Bagels. I’ve gone a few times, but I had to stop visiting with them because for some reason, every time I do, I find that at the end of the visit I’m always missing a few dollars and some change from my wallet. Probably just some strange coincidence.














Apt. 6B:

Harold. That’s all I know him by. He keeps mostly to himself. He’s single, never been married and no girlfriend. He’s always going shopping for balloons, candy corn, streamers, confetti and stuff like that. I can’t figure out why. I never hear any parties going on in his place. And if he is having them, he sure isn’t inviting me. Which I think is rude and un-neighborly. I think he runs a ‘Daddy Daycare’ out of his place though, because I always see him bringing children home. And for some reason, he is always losing his dog.