I’d noticed this week that his car wasn’t around in the mornings or at night. I thought maybe he’d started going to the gym again or perhaps he’d found a lady friend. But this morning, as I struggled to feel natural below his third-story balcony in the dog park I braved a glance up and instantly noticed something was different.
All the blinds in his windows were pulled up, a closet door was left open, and most telling of all, all the black and white patio furniture was gone.
The moving truck I’d driven by on Friday and seen him walking towards all sweaty and hefty was his after all. I’d considered it, but quickly dismissed it. It’s only been 9 months since he moved in, after all, but there it is: he’s gone.
And hopefully for fucking ever.
I’d like to think my note had something to do with it. Or running into me all those times the last few months. Or maybe my “HBD” written in spit on his dirty window the day before his birthday because I was so sick and tired of the bullshit. You wanna move back next door? Fine. Happy fucking birthday, asshole.
Of course I doubt any of those things – save for possibly my initial note – had any effect on him. If he was caught off guard by it I can only blame his lack of due diligence. I mean, if it were me and I was planning on moving into the building next to an ex of mine I’d have done a little work to make sure he was gone.
In any case, I am finally free.
Except now I’m worried he’s going to show up in my next complex come fall…