I’ve been doing a lot of night hammocking lately. There are assumptions made of a man swaying in a hammock past midnight. It’s arbitrary, but I get it. I once saw a lady hang a row of wet doll clothes on a line at 10pm and I almost called the cops. Where are those dolls going that it can’t wait until morning?
I’m not trying to make a statement, it’s just a function of an odd schedule and nice weather. I am lounging, not lurking, but the garden lights that my wife put up lends a southern Gothic quality to the tableau. As does my blue robe, but it’s a style trademark at this point and I’m unwilling to give it up.
My neighbor has grown suspicious. Last night I heard her back door open and close repeatedly, perhaps investigating the scene? Eventually she swept a high power flashlight over my yard to see what was up. I waved politely to ease her mind. I don’t think it worked. I considered going over to plead my case, but arguing that you only seem creepy rarely has the intended effect. I feel like my inevitable slid into low grade supervillianry has begun, but I suspect Sally will sort things out in the morning.