Howdy, Neighbor

Like all good San Franciscans, we spy on our neighbors. Well, spy may be a bit strong. But we are familiar with them. We have nicknames, even. The nicknames started when Harper hurt her back and was largely confined to bed for a year. The neighbors became like her TV show, there being no TV in the bedroom. She was living Rear Window. Complete with our own cast of characters: the couple, comic book store guy neighbor, the girl who is always at home, the big oaf, and, our favorite, the boy. The boy started off as a normal college-age boy. He played guitar. He drank beer with friends, and grilled on his porch. One night, he almost got into a fight with The Big Oaf outside on the sidewalk. (I broke this up, by yelling out the window. "Shut up!" I didn't really care about he noise at all, truth be told. I did it to forestall a fight, re-directing their mutual aggression at me, rather than each other. The Boy would have gotten his ass kicked, and that would have made me sad.)

But then, at some point, The Boy quit being a boy, and started being a user. I'm not quite sure when that was, but it was certainly when Harper's back was still hurt to the point she was largely confined to bed, so at least a year and a half. He quit going out. He quit having friends over, and more and more of the time, he just sat motionless in front of his computer, for hours on end. Not typing. Just staring straight ahead, holding a mouse in one hand. I took the picture below on the left in March. The one on the right was taken last night.