For Christ’s sake, why do you have to keep turning up and hanging around? I know you own their house, and we’ve been here a while, so you know us, and you know I’m here during the day. None of that means we’re pals or that we should hang out and chat. The fact that I know who you are and could probably pick you out of a crowd of two doesn’t mean I have anything to say to you. Do what you need to do and then GTFO. Go home, go anywhere, just don’t bother me or expect me to talk to you. Unless there is a good reason for it, I don’t want to talk to you. “You’re here and I’m home” is not a reason. If you need a flashlight or a shovel or something, and you think there’s one in our basement, just go fucking look. I’ve told you enough times that if I’m here and awake, the back door isn’t locked, and you can go straight down to the basement from there without disturbing me. Operative words…”without disturbing me.” We don’t have guns, so it’s not like I’m going to shoot if I hear a noise down there, and we don’t have anything worth stealing, so it’s not like I’d be worried you were a burglar and call the cops. Go get whatever you need and leave me the hell alone. If you want to come into the house proper, then yes, you do need my permission, but I don’t care about the goddamned basement. You should know that by now, and yet…here you are. Don’t bother with the words, “Are you busy?” because the answer is always, “Yes.” Supposing I was sitting here at my desk, staring at my desktop wallpaper and making little church steeples with my fingers, the answer would still be yes. Park your truck in front of the house–I’ve told you I don’t care. Gosh, I guess you’d be blocking my view of this beautiful street, but the blinds on the front windows are closed because I don’t give a shit about the view, or my neighbours and indeed, I don’t actually want to see them (or hear them, or acknowledge that they exist). Park a whole fucking fleet of trucks out there; they won’t be in the way because we park at the side of the house anyway. You know that because we’ve been here long enough and the only time you’ve seen cars parked on the street was when the alley was physically blocked by the oil guys’ gigantic goddamned truck. I don’t want company, I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want to be friends. I want you to go the fuck away and stay away. Unless my house is on fire and you think I should know about it, or I’m in the path of an oncoming tornado, just do whatever you’ve got to do, don’t talk to me, and then GO…AWAY. FOAD. If you dropped dead tomorrow, I wouldn’t notice, and if someone told me, I really wouldn’t care that much. Go. Away. Even if I did want to hang out with someone (I don’t), it for-fucking-sure wouldn’t be you. Leave me alone…I’m busy staring at my desktop. If I had icons, I’d rearrange them. Christ, I can’t stand people.