1098. Neighbourhood watch

My neighbour works as a prostitute. Well, that’s a bit harsh; she’s a “call girl”. She must be all of thirty if you want to know, and she drives quite an expensive motor vehicle. So she must be doing quite well.

In between times, and goodness knows she seems to sleep in quite late, she sells marijuana to all the people who constantly visit. I can see them out my window. They’re all eager for the weed. They knock on her door with four taps, with a brief pause after the third. From my window I see things handed over, and then they’re back in their cars and off like a shot.

I know it is marijuana because she grows it just over the fence on her property at the bottom of the garden. I see it when I mow my lawn. I have no idea where she dries the stuff. Maybe in her garage or in her roof somewhere.

So both these activities keep her pretty busy, and no doubt rich: entertaining guests and selling dope. I know it keeps her busy because every time I’ve knocked four taps on her door she’s been too busy to see me.