Mister Mufti lives across the street.
He lives right beside Mr. and Mrs. Moby. They are selling their house, but Mr. Mufti is not.
Mr. Mufti instead is standing in front of his house smoking a cigarette. All day long.
And, most evenings as well.
I often come outside in the late evening to see a small firefly trail of cigarette cherry flying lazily about in the darkness that is Mr. Mufti’s front yard.
My Grandmother would probably peer out the window, hiding behind the curtain at Mr. Mufti, saying something like ‘why is he standing out in the yard’? or ‘he should just sit up on his porch like a sane person, in a chair’ or even ‘do these people not have jobs’?
I miss my grandmother, but people like her cause trouble.