The cowboy hat was the bullhorn that screamed: this dumb sonuvabitch is gonna buy this house.
The hat was brand new, didn’t really fit the guy’s head. Like he was an impulse buyer.
Albert watched from his porch. He knew there would be an out-of-state plate, Albert was certain of it, but he craned his neck just to see which state.
Less rain here, more snow. The guy would come to hate that too, if he lasted, but he wouldn’t.
The guy was smiling at the realtor now, pointing at the architectural accents. Yep, those were authentic- awwww-thentic- turn of the twentieth century farmhouse gargoyles, right plumb here on the west side of the city.
Albert looked at the wind, as much as one could.
The first fallen leaves were skipping hard to the west.
The wind wasn’t gonna shift today.
Maybe it would shift when the guy came back or somehow the guy would Google Derrington, scroll down a bit and find articles about the Derrington Stench.
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