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to get a few more hours of sleep this morning, and it’s early afternoon now.
     
    I make my way cautiously to the door and peek out the side window finding Greta standing on my front step, along with Mrs. Butler and Mr. Clemens. It’s not Sunday, but old Mr. Clemens has what looks to be one of his wife's famous over-cooked dinners in his hands.
     
    “Is everything alright?”
     
    Always my first concern with these old people. You never know who’s going to bust a hip or have a stroke. Their clocks are ticking, that’s for sure.
     
    “Oh Miss Elle, we just wanted to say our goodbye’s before you leave.”
     
    This comes from Greta, the ol’ bitty pack leader. As per usual, she’s dressed in pressed slacks with nude stockings and open-toed shoes. Mrs. Butler’s outfit is the same, only she’s wearing full out sandals with the nude stockings.
     
    “How did you know I was leaving?”
     
    Mr. Clemens pipes up at this.
     
    “That young man told me when I was out in the yard yesterday. Nice boy, and he’s a Marine. We had a good talk about my time in the service.”
     
    This is news to me about Mr. Clemens past, but I don’t exactly sit and have long conversations with these people. Quick hellos, and helping out the odd bit when I can. Greta and Mrs. Butler’s voices cut through my thoughts as soon as I hear the word marriage.
     
    “Now Miss Elle, you shouldn’t move in with that boy until you get married.”
     
    Greta cuts Mrs. Butler off.
     
    “He has those tattoos, I told you most of them get those in the prisons. I worry about you Miss Elle.”
     
    “Greta, not every boy gets tattoos in the prisons. I told you my grandson has one, and he was never in the prisons.”
     
    Greta shakes her head at the words that just left Mrs. Butler’s mouth.
     
    “Well that grandson of yours is thirty-five and still single. Now my Randy, he’s a good boy, no tattoos-”
     
    “Alright! Greta, Mrs. Butler—both of your grandsons seem like nice men. I’m not moving in with the man that was here, however I am moving back home. I plan on leaving tomorrow.”
     
    Mr. Clemens gestures to the food in his hands.
     
    “I thought I would bring over Mary’s pork chops for Norma, a last supper. Sure going to miss sharing these with her,” he says.
     
    Henrietta Butler feels the need to put her two cents in, snickering toward Greta.
     
    “That’s because Mary couldn’t cook a microwavable dinner.”
     
    Greta snickers in return.
     
    “Thank you Mr. Clemens, I’ll let her out and you can feed her yourself if you’d like. If there isn’t anything else you guys need, I should finish packing.”
     
    Greta reaches out and grabs my hand lightly, giving it a small little shake before backing away.
     
    “We’re going to miss you around here Miss Elle. You be safe dear.”
     
    If she only knew that this life of mine revolved around safety. I shake my head and give the most sincere smile I can manage to the kind old people.
     
    “I will Greta. And thank you all for stopping by. Take care of yourselves.”
     
    They each give me a shaky hug before making their way down the driveway. As they walk away, Brock comes jogging up to the house. Greta eyeballs his tattoos in distaste, clearly assuming he’s a criminal. Kind Brock does his best to wave and smile at them, but sadly very little is returned.
     
    “I don’t think your neighbors like me, babe,” is the first thing he says when he reaches my front step.
     
    “Nah, they just associate tattoos with former prison inmates. Wear some more clothes next time, and maybe a pair of loafers.”
     
    Brock’s deep laugh graces my ears.
     
    “That’s not gonna happen.”
     
    “Ya, I didn’t think so. What’s up? I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
     
    “I wanted to see if you were still here, and give something to you.”
     
    I’m hoping it’s some of Sam's sugary sweets from the bakeshop, but he pulls a piece of paper out of his