The way the pieces fit together in my local jigsaw puzzle of suburbia is that my property borders on that of seven other homes. Four of these families I have a nod-and-smile acquaintance with. The other three I might recognize by voice, for their words sometimes cut right through our walls.
Yet as long as they hold their tongues, I could pass those same people on the street and never know them, despite their houses standing so close to mine we could play leapfrog across our rooftops.
But I bet they all know me, the local foreigner. And I bet at least one of them finds me undesirable.
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