It was someone's twisted idea of suburbia. The houses were all cut from the same cloth, but they'd each been given a unique variation on a common theme: boredom. Furthermore, the house was smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Okay, not quite the middle. Perhaps a little to the left, judging by the woman who looked like a man, and was undoubtedly a man every other day, that was walking down the sidewalk.
I watched out the window. My gaze was fixed on the other pedestrian. He was wearing a black hood that shadowed his face from the setting sun. Honestly? I thought he looked like he'd just robbed a bank. I wasn't sure if that turned me on or not.
He kept walking from driveway to driveway. It was standard procedure, so I was told. They'd come and stand at the foot of the driveway, placing their feet squarely beside the edge of the sidewalk, the roadside lawn and the driveway itself. Then, they were to squint at the window for a red light.
I watched him do this to five of our neighbours before I fell into uncontrollable fits of laughter. It was so absurd to watch. But as he stood at our driveway and noticed our light, I held my vigilant watch.
I yelled downstairs, to Kerry, "Melinda, he's here!" I made sure to say her pseudoname in the most pompous voice I could muster.