"क्यू"

Lately my life is all about my neighbor, whom I'll call Q. I don't know why the title of this came out in another language, maybe Sanskrit or something, but I don't know how to change it so I'll just have to deal with it.

My neighbor is like a dill pickle. One pickle, okay. Too many pickles, not okay. Indigestion. Pickle (Q) wants to be around me all the time. Q always has an upset stomach or a headache or is too hot or has trouble walking. Q has a nasty little dog, which I'll say, to his credit, has never bitten me, but he has bitten her once or twice and also bit her mother frequently (the mother died in Dec. of last year, but not from a dog bite). The dog, in fact, seems to like me. Not so strange because every time I go over there I feed him crackers or something. One day I brought pork chops, which were too well done for Q, so he had a feast. I don't think he's forgotten that.

Q is a fine artist who has always painted on porcelain. I say, of all things, Q, why did you have to choose that? Imagine devoting your life to painting on porcelain! She says she used to make money at it once. Now she has all these lovely porcelain things that she can't get rid of. I offered to buy a painted clock for $20. That's about my limit.

The more I think about it, the more she is like a caricature. But then some of the finest people you'll ever meet are caricatures. Enough for now. I hope to write more about Q or something else tomorrow. Goodbye, all my fans (2).