It’s 12:30 am. The police have been outside talking to our neighbor (the one with all the random two-minute car trips) for a while, but Katy can’t quite overhear what they’re saying. Neighbor’s SUV was in a nasty accident in the last day, with a flat tire in the front and part of the hood all torn up. We have no idea how he got it home. I’m glad to see the police are taking an interest in him, whether it’s for the accident, drugs, or blackmailing our landlord, but why in the middle of the night?

There’s a crew in the street with a van marked “Pressure Washing.” There are cones in the street and a man is hosing things down. On a Friday night, after midnight.

When I drove home from work tonight, there were three police cars blocking streets just a few blocks down, lights flashing.

Time for bed, as long as the pressure washers keep it down.

And? I was just checking my bloglines and there was a name I didn’t recognize. I think bloglines is trying to tell me something because it decided to subscribe me to a blog called Weight Loss. Um? I know I didn’t do that.

Cue the Twilight Zone music again, please.

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