Boo Radley, our next door mystery man. Wild-eyed, saddled by a quiet physical intensity, our Boo doesn’t leave cool stuff in the open knot of a tree, rather, he drops spent cigs along our property line. Ok, not a true Boo, but he’ll do.
Our sarcastic perpetual teen across the street is disturbingly reclusive, a perfect combination of Holden Caulfield and his Cornish, NH counterpart, J.D. Salinger. Truth be told, our Holden isn’t a teen. He’s a Veteran, just like Jerry who stormed Normandy.
Driving the Mercedes from her driveway to her NEXT DOOR NEIGHBORS HOUSE, swishing her eyebrows at me–a lowly pedestrian–Blanche DuBois is alive and blissfully unaware, hopelessly neurotic. She’s pretty annoying.
The Old Man.
Unspeakably beaten, Santiago is the face of perseverance, an inveterate plyer of all things entrepreneurial. The demise of his landscaping business, the truck-shipping Craigslist fiasco, Hemingway’s protagonist simply does not quit. Triumph is read clear in his tired eyes.
Terribly insecure, living in the past, our Willy–a Brooklyn native, too–refuses to let me get a word in edgewise. Bus-stop stalker of all things, he painfully sells fading ideas with a vulnerability that would make Arthur Miller blush.
Those I Wish Were Residents.
Dean Moriarty, Sal Paradise’s counterpart, would be the no brainer go-to-guy for booze-fueled action. But, if I think about it, Dean would never be around. He’d always be On the Road. Not much of a neighbor, I guess.
Garp, John Irving’s aspiring and eventual author, would be the perfect sounding board for all things literary and absurd. I can’t help but think he’d resemble Robin Williams.
And who doesn’t like an awesome dog?! The neighborhood would be infinitely cooler with Jack London’s Buck, the mighty alpha canine. I’d trust that dog with my retirement plan.
Those Who Aren’t Welcome in the Neighborhood.
Patrick Bateman, that American Psycho, with his crazy-intense business card and ridiculous morning routine can stay put on the pages of Brett Easton Ellis’ 1991 novel. Much too violent for this suburban set. We got kids, people.
Tyler Durden, while cool, is way too out there with his penchant for brawling and making soap from medical waste. And all those Fight Club rules you’re not supposed to talk about? Such an odd dictatorship.
We purposely don’t carry fava beans or decent Chianti, a clear message–persona non grata–for you know who…