I move my neighbour’s recycling bin back every windy night.

They still think the municipality has an unusually attentive collection crew. I have never corrected them.

My neighbour and I communicate entirely through porch lights.

One blink means a package arrived. Two means deer are eating the flowers. Three means someone parked badly again.

Someone on my street puts tiny hats on a garden statue.

The hat changes with the weather and I now check it before checking the forecast.

I move my neighbour’s recycling bin back every windy night — I still think about it.

I have never admitted this, but they still think the municipality has an unusually attentive collection crew. I have never corrected them. I am sharing it here because my friends are tired of hearing about it.

My neighbour and I communicate entirely through porch lights — I still think about it.

I have never admitted this, but one blink means a package arrived. Two means deer are eating the flowers. Three means someone parked badly again. I still laugh every time I pass the same spot.

Someone on my street puts tiny hats on a garden statue — I still think about it.

I have never admitted this, but the hat changes with the weather and I now check it before checking the forecast. It has become one of those oddly specific local memories.

I move my neighbour’s recycling bin back every windy night — nobody knows the full story.

My small Victoria secret is that they still think the municipality has an unusually attentive collection crew. I have never corrected them. I am sharing it here because my friends are tired of hearing about it.

My neighbour and I communicate entirely through porch lights — nobody knows the full story.

My small Victoria secret is that one blink means a package arrived. Two means deer are eating the flowers. Three means someone parked badly again. I still laugh every time I pass the same spot.

Someone on my street puts tiny hats on a garden statue — nobody knows the full story.

My small Victoria secret is that the hat changes with the weather and I now check it before checking the forecast. It has become one of those oddly specific local memories.

I move my neighbour’s recycling bin back every windy night — and it happened again.

Honestly, they still think the municipality has an unusually attentive collection crew. I have never corrected them. I am sharing it here because my friends are tired of hearing about it.