They’re quiet. I like that. I’ve done had neighbors that blare music at all hours or let their dogs bark all day. The Night Ambulance…now that gives me the willies. That thing never flashes any lights, and I guess it doesn’t have any kind of siren. Never heard one anyhow.
Every time I see that thing I get bad dreams. My husband says I’m too sensitive. He says if I let my imagination get carried away he’s going to call the Ambulance on me. I tell him I’d claw his eyes as soon as let that happen.
But that’s neither here nor there.
Here’s what you got to know to live next to the Asylum. Well, live in peace with those people.
You don’t go knocking on their door. You got kids? Don’t send them there to sell candy or other stupid stuff. You get a flat tire? They don’t got jacks or jumper cables or anything helpful to normal people.
You don’t get nosey. Don’t stare and don’t even look like you’re listening. Once. That’s all it took. Once. Once, the Head Nurse came here. Seems my husband was looking that way a bit much for her taste. He doesn’t look any more.
The boys in town, you know, the young ones, sixteen and seventeen, they get curious. They hear things about the girls in that place. Supposed to be the most beautiful girls anyone’s ever seen. Makes me think it’s good to be ugly–bound to be less crazy that way.
Anyway, those boys try to sneak on the grounds to peer in windows. I used to shout them off if I saw them heading that direction. I don’t bother these days. They’ll learn. I think they come back a little more mature, and they don’t ever say what they saw.
Really, you can’t live on this here road if you’re curious. Your curiosity would drive you mad. In a manner of speaking.
They’re good neighbors though. Quiet. I like quiet. And this is the safest street in town. Nothing ever goes wrong here.