We have lived in our current apartment since October.  Our neighbors are wacky and, to be honest, I try to avoid most of them the majority of the time.  I just want to live here and I don’t want my neighbors to know too much about me, nor do I want to know much about them.  I’ll say “hello,” “goodbye” and occasionally wave, but most anything outside of that takes me out of my comfort zone with these neighbors.  They probably think Erin and I are snobs and I do not care.

An issue with the apartment, itself, though, is that it apparently once belonged to a young woman named Carrie Wheeler.  Since the day we moved in, we have gotten her mail, almost on a daily basis.  This isn’t a huge deal, really, but I have to wonder what happened to her.  “She moved” you might be thinking, but the issue with that is the fact that the mail we get for her, has been forwarded to this address by the post office.  Like she just moved here and all of the proper outlets haven’t been notified of this change.  I’ll say this again, we’ve been here since October.  I gotta wonder if she’s a fugitive, or maybe she killed someone in this apartment shortly after moving in and has fled to Mexico.  I fear that one night the FBI are going to bust my door open and arrest my wife and I after, in a bizarre Poe-like twist of events, they find her buried within our concrete walls, framing us for murder in some way.

If this isn’t the case, Ms. Wheeler, and you’re reading this, please come get your mail.  I’m sick of it.  It always appears to be some kind of bill or junk mail.  Why couldn’t you have been subscribed to Fredrick’s of Hollywood or something?  Too much to ask?  Oh well.

Enjoy today’s haiku:

Ms. Carrie Wheeler
You don’t live here anymore
I don’t want your mail

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