My Neighbor Brian

The sunlight stung the soft pallet of my iris as I stared off into the yard. Middle of fall and it was still scalding out. Eyes squinting, I squirmed to see through the hazy of flare. A constant, irritating buzzing and churning made it impossible to even think. I gazed about the yards to my left and my right. Ah, the culprit.

My neighbor Brian was yet again mowing his lawn. I felt as if I was in a dream. Or rather a strange world where one day repeats itself over and over again. He seemed to be out there everyday mowing, or edging, or weed whacking. The unstoppable buzzing must have been his favorite sound. That or he just hated me terribly.

I sat in my garage everyday. Trying to focus and come up with the most brilliant of brilliant ideas and stories. And he is there, just mowing and trimming away. Not one care in the world. His orange tank top sat tightly atop his shoulders. Showing off his farmers tan quite nicely.

I had no idea how he wasn’t as red as an apple. His balding head would certainly ignite in this heat. But alas, he was fine. I wish these things on my friend, my neighbor, not to cause him harm. But to stop the eternal racket. Mowing and mowing.

Nothing ceases his quest. Rain or shine, he still goes. Day in and day out. It drove me mad. I reached my breaking point. I wished for nothing more than for that horribly machine to run over him. But alas, he was fine.

Perhaps I could have gotten hit by a lawn mower instead. That would end my suffering for sure. But alas, I was fine. He didn’t take my joking and mocking to heart. One comment and he was right back to mowing. I thought he would stop eventually. But he didn’t.

He still hasn’t.

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