#container depot

[containerhub]

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[emcontainer]

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[homoautoerotic]

The sex is great and I truly hope we never stop discussing it but the softness kills me. Need Armand covering Daniels face in kisses and holding him and called him his beautiful boy and his treasure. Who needs drugs when I’ve got this

oh I'm as much of a horny freak as the next guy on here (lying, I'm much worse), but like sometimes I take a step back and remember that for some of the other fellow horny freaks, Devil's Minion is just about the hot "toxicity" (kind of giving a side eye at how often people put bdsm in things as a way to signal hot toxicity but whatever) and that they apparently don't really love each other and are just addicted or obsessed and that's where I politely excuse myself to create another 12 mental scenarios of them being a married couple

anyway I might elaborate upon this further in a post but I think they should get a canopy bed that closes on all 4 sides so they can have a little nesting situation whenever they sleep

[robpegoraro]

Yes, you can make your own utensil drawer dividers

Some of the ingredients for a new recipe I recently tried out in my kitchen: poplar, screws and stain.

Finally having our kitchen redone after almost 20 years of getting increasingly fed up with the sloppy layout and slipshod workmanship1 of the old cabinets has since left me spending more time in a different part of our house: the basement. That’s because three weeks of spectacularly efficient work by our contractor to rip out the old cabinets, build the new ones and install new appliances left…

[stevviefox]

FYI

Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.

Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.

You're going to need:

A 3-Ring Binder

Transparent Sheet Protectors

Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)

A backpack (optional)

So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.

Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.

You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).

Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).

When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.

Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.

A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.

I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.

You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.

There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.

It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.

So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.

I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.

Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.

Anyway good luck and happy adulting.

[scmxpress]

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[beaversatemygrandma]

I keep hearing the gunshots but the rent sure ain't getting lower

[alcinvestmentgroup]

Shipping Container Storage

Website : https://alcinvestmentgroup.com

Address : 12523 Limonite Ave #440-279, Eastvale, CA 91752

Phone : +1 909-414-1772

ALC Investment Group is a shipping container storage yard/depot. We provide 24/7 storage for shipping containers that need to be stored, when the warehouse is not ready for delivery, and/or the containers need to be moved out of the ports.

[seat-safety-switch]

Vans aren't "cool," but they are enjoying a sort of renaissance of sorts. The desirability of these boxy, cargo-hauling conveyances represents some admittedly minor hope for the future. If vans regain their ancient popularity, there is a chance that we can overthrow the dictatorship of the pickup truck and return to our traditional values as a society.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not some wacko van fundamentalist. Sure, I do get into theological arguments with Ford people about which generation of the Econoline is derived most purely from van theory, but that's on our own territory. Not something for the regular folk to see.

You have nothing to fear about me giving you a shank if you accidentally call a half-cut container truck the deeply unfunny slur that is "cube van." I won't even get mad if you prefer a hatchback. Anything that can haul cargo in an enclosed vessel, and does so often, is an honorary van in my book. And it's a good idea, before we proceed, to talk about just why vans are becoming more popular.

Vans are in fact the only houses that many people can own. Sad but true. You could live in a pickup truck, too. Nobody is denying that, but that's like living in one of those strange Arizona desert homes where there's only enough roof for your bed, a novel about libertarianism, and a small overhang to keep your ammo and canned beans dry. Just not enough enclosed area. No sense of security. Throbbing paranoia at all minutes that if you stop at the Home Depot just for a minute that someone will steal your groceries out of the bed.

Me, I like to have a nice personal space which will be largely protected if I roll the thing into the ditch doing triple the speed limit. It's bad enough already without having to walk half a kilometre back from the impact site, picking up all your strewn possessions from the roadside. Better to keep the sleeping bags, provisions, and pet chickens on the inside of the vehicle.

If there can be said to be a downside to the growth of van popularity, it is that they are more popular than ever. Demand means resale value skyrockets, which means I can't easily get a new van to replace my old one when it gets towed by the cops or love-taps the bollard in the Tim Hortons drive-thru. That's why I've started investing in motorhomes, which are the van for people who can't afford vans or houses. They just so happen to come with big-ass V8s, too, like all of the other places I've ever lived. It's like I was never evicted at all.

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[lotuscontainers]

Container depot services | LOTUS Containers

Without a container depot, shipping and logistics would be of no use. Container depots are crucial for the journey where goods are loaded and unloaded. Apart from this, there are transshipment ports that combine different modes of transport. LOTUS containers are partnered with around 300 ports that will provide you with the best services. So, get in touch with them with any kind of port services you need.

[vaspider]

So we bought Emet a small, full sized fridge for the shop bc that's a good birthday present and it will keep her from ADHDing and leaving like... containers of salsa sitting out on a table for hours bc putting them away requires stopping work and going upstairs.

We could have kept getting annoyed bc food was getting wasted by being left out, or we could say, "we found this fridge on sale at Home Depot. We have now fixed the problem, and we will stop having to throw out food that you leave out. Happy birthday."

(Seriously, the amount of food waste this will save will pay for itself in six months or less, present aspect aside. Fix your environment so it suits you.)

[aisquaredchoco]

I know I said I'm getting a little rest from making cc, but I just can't sit here knowing I reached 900 followers and do nothing about it. Though these were just unreleased projects that were wating to be posted during the time I had a broken internet at home so no worries, I didn't pressure myself to make these as these were made carefully and with love. So here's a token of gratitude for the huge following I continuously receive all throughout. Thank you everyone! 🥰

4to3 Eco Lifestyle "Panel to the Metal" Wall

-- Three channels, cost §3, found in Walls > Paneling

4to3 Eco Lifestyle "Layered Paneling" Floor

-- Two channels, cost §4, found in Floors > Metal

4to3 Cottage Living "All Good Days Daisy Box"

-- Ah yes, this is the plant I showed on the tutorial I shared not a little long ago. One channel with 7 presets for each flower variation, costs §50, found in Decor > Plants. Contains the original catalog description from TS4.

4to3 Seasons "Branching Out"

-- Four channels (yes, even the flowers!), costs §50, found in Decor > Plants. Contains the original catalog description from TS4.

4to3 Spa Day "Wheatless-Wheat Grass"

-- Two variations, one with a single channel and another with two channels. Costs §65, found in Decor > Plants. Contains the original catalog description from TS4.

4to3 For Rent "Indoor Outdoor Plastic Chair"

-- I had my eyes set on this plastic chair when For Rent came out, so I know I have to convert it for my game. And anyone else who wants it can have it too! One channel, costs §30, found in Comfort > dining Chairs, Misc. Contains the original catalog description from TS4.

***UPDATE 12 APR 2024: PLEASE REDOWNLOAD!

***The chair's holes are not shown to be transparent. This is now updated with the corrected transparency. Sorry for the inconvenience!

4to3 Greenhouse Haven Kit "The Plant Platform by Plant-It"

-- Two channels, costs §175, found in Surfaces > Shelves, Misc. Shiftable with 7 slots. Contains the original catalog description from TS4.

Decades "JuxtaPlant" Separated Planter* and Plant

-- Self-explanatory, made the planter and plant as separate objects. The planter has the same two channels and a single slot for the plants to put on, price is reduced to §100. The plant is non recolorable and costs §75. Both are found in Decor > Plants.

Fast Lane "Stack O'Storage" as Planter*

-- Aside from being a garage clutter, this stack of crates from Fast Lane can also be a planter of your choice too, also with a slot for your plants. Priced §75, found in Decor > Plants.

Base Game Ficus and Philodendron as Separate Plants

Same with the JuxtaPlant plant, these were also 'depotted' from their vases and can be freely placed in any emptied planters. Non-recolorable, cost §150 (Ficus) and §50 (Philodendron). Both found in Decor > Plants.

*note: these planters will not work with harvestable plants, as these are made for decorative purposes only. If someone wants to remake them as functional planters, please do so!

Everything is base game compatible!

DOWNLOAD: Simfileshare | Mediafire

[cultofdixon]

Oddly Fascinating

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Can you imagine a human fucking pretzel? Well you certainly like to freak the others out unexpectedly • SFW/NSFW - Implied Sex

Requested by: Anon

It’s…fascinating. The things Y/N can do with JUST her body. Keep that noggin out of the gutter for a minute.

Y/N joined the group a little after the Woodbury infusion to the prison. She didn’t have a group and sort of ended up in Virginia because she simply didn’t stop walking from where she originated.

One day Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn were out on a run in the closest outdoor mall, which is a few hours away from the prison—so they were going to have to camp. Daryl went to check the store that looked like a miniature Home Depot thinking he could find some camping supplies but when he entered the store…said camping supplies were in use but no person.

“If anybody is here, I ain’t gonna hurt yea,” Daryl stated knowing that wouldn’t go far but to his surprise one of the storage boxes’s lids flung open. Soon a woman’s upper half popped out like a jack in the box and it was a bit unsettling to the archer.

“I had to see who I’m working with and what makes yea think I’ll trust “I ain’t gonna hurt yea” with muscles like those”

“You think I’d hit a woman?”

“It’s the apocalypse. If laws don’t exist, neither does moral code. I follow them still…but still”

“I don’t hit women.” Daryl scoffs. “How do yea fit in there?”

“I don’t know you well enough to share my skills. But I do feel a little better knowing you’re not gonna throw a left hook at my face” the woman began to fully pull herself out of the container and when she stepped out, she locked eyes with the archer’s confused yet curious ones. “Okay I trust you about not killing me but why haven’t you left?”

“Gonna ask yea a few things if that’s okay with you”

“Sure I guess” She put the lid back on the box before taking a seat and crossing her arms.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Lost count a long time ago”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Four”

“Why?”

The woman went silent for a moment and avoided eye contact as she held herself. “They were my friends, and brother who were about to turn. They didn’t want to be taken out as a walker and didn’t want to become one so. You know…”

“I do” Daryl leaned against one of the shelves. “It’s hard to take someone you care about out after they’ve changed”

“Getting deep with me and we don’t even know each other’s name”

“Daryl”

“Y/N”

Then she joined their group right then and there. The others that came with Daryl liked her, didn’t trust her right away but given her attitude immediately when it came to them asking the same questions Daryl asked—-both Glenn and Michonne knew that they will grow to trust her. Same with the others. Returning back to the prison with a lot more than they had expected helped the initial image of the new comer. Y/N hoarded a lot of stuff so thinking that she would survive alone in there.

Some part of Daryl wanted Y/N to take the empty cell in their cellblock but given he didn’t speak up and Rick showed her one of the others, that wasn’t happening.

But she was very involved with helping around the prison.

“You good up there Y/N?” Rick calls out to her receiving a thumbs up while she continued to work with fixing part of the fence that disconnected from the gate.

The retired sheriff watches his brother pull in on his bike but stop to watch Y/N a moment. She dropped her wire cutters and as it hit the grass, Daryl hopped off his bike about to grab it when he quickly took a step back when Y/N jumped down somersaulting in the dirt.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” Daryl shouted as Y/N stood up immediately, stretching her back after her action. “Yea could’ve cracked your head open!”

“I’ve done it a million times before. Don’t worry your pretty little head”

“A million times? What, in the circus?”

“How did you know?” Y/N smiles catching him off guard at first and even more when she broke out in laughter. “I wasn’t in the circus dumbass. I’ve done a lot of risky stuff and…gymnastics. But what just happened is nothing compared to other stuff” she states while throwing herself back so she was then in a bridged position and Daryl watched her upper half lay flat on its stomach showing her crawl between her legs and hold her ankles. Exorcist shit.

“Now I think you’re an alien”

“Rude” Y/N scoffs as such action was a bit uncomfortable given her twisted position. “It definitely impressed and freaked out a few hook ups”

Now that led Rick to leave from overhearing their conversation, both knowing damn well he was there. He opened the gate once Y/N was back in the upright position and Daryl was still left appalled somewhat.

Y/N was definitely making a good impression on most. Has been on every run that was planned and no one opposed, she’s especially useful in tight situations.

“Alright, so I was thinking we break down the door and then—-“ Tyreese cut himself off when Y/N gestured for Maggie’s help to hoist her up and she happily obliged.

Next thing the group knew, Y/N was pushing herself through the small window above the locked door landing on the other side and unlocking it.

“Or that” Sasha chimes in with a laugh and smile, impressed by the woman. “Now we don’t have to almost break ourselves to get into places” she walked past her as Y/N brushes off some of the dirt checking her person carefully. Said actions didn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

After a couple hours passed, the four returned to the prison and dispersed but as Daryl stuck by his bike a moment he noticed Y/N straggling a bit. She stood for a while glancing around and turned to Daryl with a questioning look before turning away.

“If yea need something, you can ask” He didn’t hesitate as Y/N slumped in defeat before turning around and approaching him.

“Crack my back”

“What?” Daryl scoffs confused as he wiped the grime off his hands with his rag. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Imma turn around cross my arms and you’re going to wrap your arms around me then lean back until a crack is heard.” Y/N explained in the most layman terms she could think of and it clicked instantly to Daryl but he hesitated a moment.

“Is that what yea want?”

“Yes, well. What I really want is someone to step on my back but all of y’all aren’t trained to do that and back in the day I had a friend who was a masseuse.”

“Well, I’ll do my best” Daryl grunts bringing himself over after tossing his rag on his bike watching her turn around and do what she had to do before he wrapped his arms around her. “Just lean back holding yea?”

“Yup” Y/N felt a sudden warmth rise in her chest when she was being lifted and the heat came clear in her cheeks expressing more of a red hue.

She heard the crack a bit ago but they both just. Stood there and it went from Daryl holding her to them both holding each other. Still Y/N’s back against his chest but her arms held onto his. Daryl relaxed setting her down but the way he held her for much longer and Y/N didn’t show any sign of letting go.

There was something

When the illness washed through the prison and a few were sent to get the medicine, Y/N found herself in the doorway watching Bob shove alcohol into his bag. He turned toward her realizing she was there and instead of talking first, he quickly took a bottle and threw it in her direction watching her quickly fall back then swing her body back forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ what are you? One of those inflatable car sales string cheese looking things?!”

“That’s very descriptive. Are you gonna be the same way when telling me why you have a goddamn bag of alcohol and not medicine to save our people”

“Oh for fucks sake! You and I are the newest people at the prison and you’re willing to bend over backwards—-even literally—-for people you barely know”

“So?!”

“SO?!” Bob shouted which caught another’s attention, Michonne as the conversation ended the second she joined. Bob brushed past her as she quickly gave a concerned look to Y/N.

I’m fine. Was all Y/N gave her as she stepped out.

Of course the booze was found out by Daryl and that was a more explosive mess to address than when Y/N first confronted him. But it all stopped mattering when they finally got their medicine into their people.

After getting their medicine in, Daryl went in search for Y/N who disappeared after they did such. It didn’t take long to find her because she was in her cell but she was alone in the old Woodbury cell block. Because of the outbreak.

“You alright?” Daryl asks Y/N even if she was currently hiding under her deconstructed bunk.

“Yeah”

“Don’t look like it”

A few seconds of silence. “Yeah…” she sounded defeated and pulls her entire self out from under bringing herself to sit on her bed. Daryl bringing himself to sit with her leaning his back against the wall.

“You can trust me, with whatever is on your mind”

“It’s strange…how easily it was for Bob to just. Not care about the others in the heat of the moment”

“Some people are just like that. Somethin’ or someone has to change them”

“I used to be like that. Not a warm caring person when this thing first started. I just. Had moments that changed me”

“Yeah?” Daryl gave her a questioning look that she noticed in the corner of her eye. “What changed yea?”

“Having to end the lives of people I cared for, the ones who got bit. When…” Y/N hesitated a second before looking at Daryl. “When I met you”

She’s full of surprises isn’t she? Daryl could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he never felt that feeling before.

But this moment was short lived like the many that followed after.

Until they found themselves alone weeks later…in a new place, with strange new people. Y/N stuck by Daryl’s side since they first entered Alexandria and given how the archer was feeling from all the loss, he would find himself following her if she were to stray or disappear from his side for too long.

“Can you hand me the socket wrench?” Daryl asks while under the car Aaron drives for recruiting as he was asked to check something out for the man. Y/N being there to help in any way even if it is just handing tools to the archer.

Y/N was currently repairing one of the angel wings on Daryl’s vest which led her to using her leg to reach toward the bench then her foot hooked onto the handle of the tool box. She then carefully bent so that she could grasp the box with her hands and go through the kit for what he asked for.

“Damn”

The annoyingly familiar voice caught both of their attentions as Daryl pushes out on the skateboard sitting up to look at Spencer confused. Y/N equally confused on the matter while handing the tool over.

“You know I saw you the other day doing your…morning stretches or whatever. Didn’t think you’d be THAT flexible…and limber…” Spencer was starting, or continuing to make Y/N uncomfortable as he starts to check her out making her cover herself with Daryl’s vest in her lap.

Daryl quickly taking note of the reaction and glaring at the man. “Beat it”

“I wasn’t talking to you” Spencer brushed him off keeping his attention on Y/N. “I bet you’re even more flexible in more intimate situations”

Y/N scoffs instantly but before she could bite the guy’s head off. She felt herself being pulled toward Daryl’s direction. Daryl having grabbed the blanket she was seated on pulling it closer to him so he could protectively wrap his arm around her shoulders as she instinctively leaned into him.

“She’s taken. Now I’d fuck off and bother somebody else before your mommy sees her little boy’s face smashed the fuck in” Daryl threats and didn’t let his guard down but it got Spencer to storm off defeated. “What a tool”

“He’s not wrong about something”

“Huh?”

“I am very flexible when we’re intimate” Y/N laughs slightly catching her own boyfriend off guard resulting in the red hue rising in his cheeks.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: in a feud with her neighbor

bonus scenes now available

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 5621

summary:

Five times you think Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever, and the one time he isn’t.

author’s note: this is so self-indulgent. i hope you guys enjoy it! if you like this work, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment because they make my day 💕

special thanks to the angels who helped with ideas: @dreamingofdaddydin @jksprincess10 @mydailyhyperfixations @funnygirlthatgab

additional warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no use of y/n, story contains visual graphics, everyone pretend the 12 ft skeleton was available in 2003 and you could stream TV shows, no sarah, no outbreak, neighbor feuds, enemies to lovers, oral (explicit f receiving, non-explicit m receiving), semi-public sex, making out in a pool, reader is a menace and arguably the bad neighbor here, unprotected p in v, use of sex toys, praise kink, pet names, dirty talk. let me know if any are missing!

Joel Miller is the worst neighbor ever. 

Your issues with him started on your first Halloween in the neighborhood. You had moved into your new home a few months prior, thrilled that you finally managed to escape the horrors of apartment living. You were now the proud owner of a little single story two bedroom craftsman style home, complete with fenced in backyard and a pool. 

You loved your little house and the neighborhood was ideal, quiet but tight knit. The neighbor to your left, an elderly woman named Betty, had invited you over for tea and cookies and given you the lowdown on the neighborhood gossip.

The neighbor to your right, Joel Miller, she said, was a wonderful man. Polite, kind, and not too hard on the eyes either. You hadn’t met him yet, but with a glowing review like that, you couldn’t wait until you did.

She had also mentioned that the neighborhood goes all out for Halloween. They even hosted a contest for the best decorated house. Your mind already raced with the possibilities.

You loved Halloween. In Texas, the stifling heat finally eased around that time, dropping to a slightly more tolerable range in the 80s with cooler nights. You loved seeing all the displays in the stores and how abandoned storefronts would be overtaken by whole companies dedicated to Halloween. You watched all the horror movies you could and on the weekends you’d seek out local fall festivals because you’re a sucker for candy apples and funnel cake.

No one ever decorated at the apartment complex you previously lived in, so you were extra excited to decorate your house and yard. You bought fake tombstones and plastic skeletons for the yard, spider webs and little ghosts to hang in the trees. You carved two pumpkins to set on either side of the steps leading up to your front door and made little ghost statues out of tomato cages, foam balls, and white fabric. You even strung purple lights through your hedges. 

You were totally going to win the decorating contest. You were confident that you would.

Until you woke up Halloween morning and Joel Miller had somehow decorated his entire home in the time that you had been sleeping, blissfully unaware.

The man had somehow managed to set up an entire army of skeletons, including a handmade wooden jail stuffed with ones trying to escape. There were some posed on the house itself, climbing up the sides and the roof. He had some coming out of the ground, red spotlights fixed on them for an eerie glow. But perhaps most impressive of all was the twelve foot skeleton with glowing red eyes that was posed near the makeshift jail, holding the door open like it was releasing the trapped undead soldiers.

Joel Miller had the motherfucking twelve foot skeleton. You wanted one of those so bad but it was always sold out. You checked every nearby Home Depot for months trying to find one and here Joel Miller has one, taunting you.

He won the decorating contest, sweeping the victory from right under your feet.

It may seem silly, but that was the moment you decided Joel Miller was the worst neighbor ever.

When you were buying your first home, you had been meticulous in calculating your finances in order to comfortably afford the purchase. You did not, however, account for having to repair your air conditioning system within less than a year of moving in. This made a significant dent in your savings, which led you to cut your expenses elsewhere.

One such expense was your internet. Why? Because it turns out Joel Miller, asshole neighbor, doesn’t password protect his router and you can just use his.

It’s not like he would notice.

_________________

Joel stares at his internet bill in confusion. This is the third month in a row that he’s been charged for going over his data allowance. That doesn’t even make sense. He’s the only person in his house and he only uses the internet on his phone to check the news and sometimes play Candy Crush. It’s why he got the lowest data plan in the first place.

He tries to think of what he could be doing differently, but comes up short. Hell, he’s not even home most of the day. He works long hours at different contracting jobs, so his free time is spent watching TV (cable, not connected to the internet), and sleeping.

But then it hits him. The overage charges never happened until you moved in. 

Joel powers up his ancient laptop and has to Google search what a router is. Turns out, he doesn’t have a password set on his. Which means, if his hunch is correct, you’ve just had free access to his internet this whole time.

He learns how to set a password and, more importantly, he learns how to change the name of his router. 

He needs to send a message, after all.

_________________

You’re about to start another episode of Grey’s Anatomy, courtesy of your friend generously sharing her Netflix password, when you receive an error message. 

No internet connectivity. Try again?

The little WiFi connection icon is missing from your toolbar. You investigate further, opening the list of options and scanning them for Joel’s, conveniently titled Miller.

But instead you find a new name.

GetYourOwnWiFi. And it’s password protected.

“Son of a bitch,” you hiss.

Joel Miller’s tree is always dropping debris in your yard. The limbs have grown over your shared fence line and on windy days you have to deal with extra pool clean up on top of the usual mess it makes of your yard, twigs and leaves ruining your perfectly manicured backyard oasis. 

You’ve asked him to trim the branches. Left him notes on his door and in his mailbox, but he still hasn’t done it.

Today you’re sending a new kind of message.

He’s going to wish he’d listened when you asked nicely. 

_________________

“What the fuck,” Joel growls when he gets home just after sunset. There’s piles of leaves and twigs littering his front porch, almost to the point that he can’t see the concrete slab beneath. 

There’s no way this just happened through the force of nature. It’s been a perfectly clear day in Austin and besides, there’s no trees at the front of his house for this kind of mess to fall from.

Which can only mean…

His eyes spot the bright pink Post-It note stuck to his door and he curses under his breath as he stomps up the porch steps and rips it down.

Here. Clean your own mess up for once. 

xoxo

Joel crumbles the note in his fist, taking deep breaths as he heads for the garage to grab a broom and a trash bag.

He’ll get you back.

He always does. 

You love animals, especially cats. Unfortunately, being allergic, you don’t have the option to have one of your own all the time. 

When you spot the first neighborhood stray, your heart lights up with excitement. It’s a little black and white cat with bright green eyes that walks right up to you while you’re getting your mail, winding its lithe body between your legs and purring against you. You stoop to pet it, mentally reminding yourself to wash your hands before you touch your face, otherwise your eyes would be itchy for hours.

“Hello, little baby,” you murmur, rubbing a hand down the length of its back. “How are you?” The cat gives a strong meow in response. “Oh, are you hungry? Let’s go see if I have anything I can give you as a treat.”

Back inside your house, you locate a can of tuna and dump it into a small plastic bowl. The cat sits patiently on the porch, tail flicking in anticipation. It hops down and shoves its little face into the bowl as soon as it’s within reach. 

“So cute,” you say, giving it one last pat on its back before returning inside.

_________________

There’s a cat sitting on Joel’s porch, watching him as he parks his truck. It’s the second time this week there’s been a cat lurking around his property. The first one he found out in the backyard, tearing up his flower beds.

The neighborhood had never had an issue with cats before, so he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re, once again, the root cause of his suffering. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he sees you on the porch one day, laying out a row of plastic bowls filled with what he assumes is cat food. At first he’s annoyed that he’s right, it is you feeding the cats, which is why they’ve been terrorizing his yard, but then you turn around and he’s struck by how utterly gorgeous you are. 

This is the first time Joel’s ever actually seen you. He’s usually out of the house before dawn and back after sunset, which must not coincide with your schedule since you’ve never run into each other. He remembers Betty, the older woman who lives to your left, telling him about meeting you.

“Gorgeous girl, that one. You two would probably hit it off,” she said as he hung a picture frame for her.

“Don’t go playin’ matchmaker, Betty,” he replied. 

But damn, seeing you now in a pair of little shorts that hug your hips and ass just right and a tight white t-shirt that shows off the tiniest bit of skin above the waist of your shorts is making him think he should have taken Betty up on her word.

Joel’s so distracted that he almost misses the way the cat on his porch hits one of his planters with his paw, knocking the ceramic over and spilling dirt all over the ground.

“Fuck!”

_________________

There’s a note on your door the next morning, a torn piece of paper with a familiar scrawl of messy handwriting that could only belong to one person.

Stop feeding the cats or you owe me new plants.

-Joel

The note actually makes you giggle. Betty sees you on your porch and beckons you over to hers.

“What’s got you gigglin’ like a schoolgirl?” The older woman asks.

“What? Nothing,” you reply too quickly.

“Wouldn’t happen to be a note from a certain tall, strong, and handsome young neighbor of yours?”

“No, definitely not.” 

She smirks at you. “You better quit terrorizin’ that poor man, honey.”

“Now, Betty, where would the fun be in that?” You say brightly as you head back to your house, the sound of her laughter following you through the door. 

There’s a package on Joel’s porch when he gets home from work. He doesn’t remember ordering anything, but he wouldn’t put it past himself.

He brings it inside without thinking twice or checking the label, chucking it on the counter with the rest of his mail as he searches for a box cutter in his junk drawer.

Joel cuts through the packing tape, lifting the flaps and rifling through the packing paper to pull out the contents.

It’s another box, light pink with the image of a hot pink u-shaped device on the top. The text across the top reads REMOTE VIBRATOR in black script.

He nearly drops the box in surprise, fumbling it in his hands. He’s certain he didn’t order this. 

Joel pulls the shipping box back towards him, keeping an eye on the vibrator like it might grow legs and run away. He flips the lid over to inspect the shipping label, his eyebrows rising as he reads your name and home address instead of his.

He looks at the toy again, mind whirling with images of you on your back, remote in hand as you bring yourself pleasure. He coughs, clearing his head and adjusts himself in his jeans.

He searches the junk drawer for a sheet of paper and a pen.

_________________

You’re staring at the delivery confirmation email from Lovelies, panic creeping down your spine. It says that your new toy has been delivered but there’s no package in your mailbox or on your porch. You’ve checked everywhere.

Which means it was either delivered to one of your neighbors or someone stole it.

If you’re being honest, you’d rather someone stole it than to have to go knock on Betty or, god forbid, Joel’s door to ask if they accidentally received your sex toy delivery. Your cheeks heat at even the thought of Joel knowing what you ordered. You head back inside empty handed.

Later, when you open your door to feed the cats, you’re surprised to find a box on your welcome mat. You set the bowls of food down and carry it inside, your excitement mounting. 

But when you open the box, you’re mortified to find a torn piece of paper on top of the packing material, Joel Miller’s familiar handwriting on the sheet.

Interesting choice

-Joel

“Fucking asshole,” you mumble, crumbling the note and tossing it to the side. You pull your new toy from its box and turn it on. “Huh. Fully charged.”

Your jerk of a neighbor won’t ruin your night if this little gadget has anything to say about it.

It’s Joel’s one day to sleep in and you’ve been blasting your music all fucking morning. He’s already got his head shoved under his pillow but the sound still filters through, ruining his chances of any extra hours of sleep to make up for his lack of it during the week.

He rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand across his beard. He heads downstairs to make coffee, the heavy beat of your music chasing him through the house. He can feel the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Joel tries to tune it out. Really. He does. As much as the two of you butt heads, he doesn’t mean anything by it, not really. He doesn’t want to be an asshole, nor is he trying to be one. 

But if you don’t turn your music down soon he’s going to lose his fucking mind.

He gives you another hour. He’s feeling generous. But when the music just keeps playing, he finally snaps. 

Joel shoves his feet into the work boots beside the door, paying little mind to the fact that he’s not wearing socks. In fact, he’s still in his sleep pants and ratty old t-shirt but he’s too far gone to care.

Once he’s in front of your door, he bangs on the wood with his fists. He waits for a response and when he doesn’t get one, probably since you can’t fucking hear him, he bangs again. There’s movement from the corner of his eye and he turns his head to find Betty watching him, lips tilted in a smirk.

“You okay with this?” Joel asks, gesturing vaguely to your house to indicate the noise level inside. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she replies before shuffling inside. He turns back to the door to pummel it with his fists again but he’s surprised to find it open.

“Howdy, neighbor,” you say, eyebrow raised and arms crossed beneath your breasts.

Which were currently covered by the tiniest bikini top he’s ever seen. His eyes trail lower, over the expanse of your stomach to the matching bikini bottoms that peek out past the folded waist of your denim shorts.

“Uh,” he says, followed by a strained cough. “Hi.”

_________________

Joel Miller is standing on your porch dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and gray pajama bottoms that sit low on his hips, a strip of soft tan belly peeking out from above the waistband when he stretches an arm up to run his fingers through his dark, messy curls.

Christ, you think. The man is prettier than Betty gave him credit for.

“Can I help you?” You ask. His eyes snap from where they’d been lingering on your chest and you straighten your back just the slightest bit at the knowledge he’d been checking you out. 

Joel clears his throat. “Your music is way too loud.”

You roll your eyes. “Does it hurt?”

“Does…what hurt?”

“Always having a stick up your ass.” 

Betty barks a laugh from her porch and Joel’s head turns so fast you have whiplash just watching him. He throws his hands up.

“Who’s side are you on, Betty?!” He shouts. 

You’re bent over, laughing so hard your stomach hurts and tears form at the corners of your eyes. When you finally catch your breath and return your attention to Joel, he’s got his hands on his hips and an impressive furrow between his brows.

“Listen, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I’m about to go out by the pool and have a drink. Wanna join?” You ask. 

“I don’t have my suit with me.”

“Well good thing you’re just right next door, huh? Go get it. I’ll leave the door unlocked,” you tell him before shutting the door in his face.

_________________

Joel returns to your house thirty minutes later, showered and wearing his swim trunks and a new t-shirt. He wipes his sweaty hands against his chest, not entirely sure why he’s nervous. He’s just having a drink with his annoying neighbor to hash out all the issues. No big deal.

Your music is still playing when he enters your house, giving the door a courtesy knock before letting himself in. The front door opens directly into the main living space, a large sectional couch facing a TV mounted between two windows to his right and a dining nook to his left. Your kitchen is nestled in the corner, just past an opening to a hallway that he assumes leads to the bedrooms. Your place is bursting with colors and textures and patterns, from the floral blanket draped over your velvet couch to the leaf patterned wallpaper and natural stone backsplash in your kitchen. You have tea towels hanging from your stove that say “ANOTHER ONE BITES THE CRUST” with a picture of a pizza, and an impressive looking bar cart that houses a variety of liquor bottles and glassware.

There’s a splash from outside and Joel sees that the sliding glass door to your patio is open. He steps onto the concrete deck, surveying the backyard oasis you’ve created for yourself. The pool is on the smaller side but still, it’s a pool, and Joel’s a little jealous of it. You’ve got chaise loungers lined near the edge and matching chairs that surround a little fire pit further out in the yard. There’s string lights hung from the shade canopy that extends from your house. 

You pop up from beneath the surface, your hair slicked back from your face and little droplets of water clinging to your skin. Joel stands there, unsure of what to do, until you swim to the ledge closest to him and drape your arms over it, regarding him with keen eyes.

“Hi,” you say. He swallows, the nerves returning as he tries desperately to not let his gaze fall below your neck.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“There’s beer in the cooler. Grab me one?” You ask before ducking back beneath the surface. He can see you swim towards the edge of the pool that the loungers face. He grabs two beers as instructed, popping the tops with the bottle opener fixed to the lid of the cooler. You break the surface once more, swimming over to where he sits on the end of one loungers.

Joel passes you the beer and you tip it towards him in thanks before taking a deep pull, your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle and distracting him monumentally. 

“So, you’re the Joel Miller, huh?” You ask. “Tell me about yourself.”

The two of you talk for what feels like ages. He learns that you’re a software engineer and you work a typical 9-5 schedule, which is why he’s never caught you around the neighborhood before. You don’t like to be outdoors much, preferring reading and catching up on your Netflix shows. You have two brothers, both of whom are older than you and live on the opposite side of the country, but you visit them around Christmas. You love animals, but have major allergies so you settle for fleeting moments with the neighborhood strays and occasionally watching your best friend’s dog when she goes out of town. 

He tells you about his work as a contractor, which he’s been doing since he was fresh out of high school and had no idea what to do with his life. He talks about his brother Tommy, how they work together on most projects and they want to start their own contracting business, but that’s a dream for another day. He mentions he’s more of a dog person than a cat person, especially because he has a grudge against the orange neighborhood cat that is still tearing up his flowerbeds. 

Joel loves the way you laugh, bright and full bodied as you toss your head back and bring a hand to your chest each time. You talk with your hands a lot, which is funny because you keep letting go of the pool ledge and scrambling to grab it again when gravity pulls you down in the water. If he doesn’t give enough detail in an answer, you’re not shy about asking him for more information, like when he said his favorite color was blue.

“Okay, but what shade of blue?” You asked.

“Just…blue?” Joel asked, clearly not understanding your question.

You rolled your eyes. “Men. I like lavender. Not just purple. Purple is a range of shades.”

“I guess…navy?”

“Now you’re getting somewhere, big guy!”

The conversation lulls as you share your drinks in companionable silence. The Texas sun bears down on his back, his t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his sweat slick skin. He bites the bullet and reaches behind his head to tug the damp fabric off, leaving him in just his swim trunks. He doesn’t miss the appreciative once-over you give him.

You extend a hand to him. “Help me out?””

Joel grasps your hand in his, marveling for a moment how small it is in his broad palm. He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice the michievous look on your face, or the way you plant your feet to the pool wall for leverage.

You give a sharp tug with both hands and he goes toppling into the pool with a surprised shout.

_________________

You’re laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath. The look on Joel’s face as you tugged him into the pool will be burned into your memory for years to come. You’d been waiting all afternoon for the man to take his shirt off, not only because you were admittedly dying to see what was hiding beneath the fabric, but also because you wanted exact a little neighborly revenge for stomping over to your house to tell you your music was too loud.

You’re feeling mighty accomplished, right up until you feel a hand wrap around your ankle and you get pulled beneath the surface with no warning. 

You open your eyes, chlorine stinging them as you see Joel torpedo towards the shallow end of the pool. You give chase, breaking the surface with a gasp.

“You asshole–”

Joel cuts you off by wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging you close and tipping his head down to capture your lips with his. He kisses like a man starved and he tastes like sunshine and chlorine and the beer he’d been drinking as his tongue slides hungrily against yours. He uses his arm to press your body to his, but it’s not close enough.

You wrap your arms around his neck and lift your legs to circle his waist, your center grinding against his rapidly hardening length. Joel trails his hands up and down your back, stopping to grab rough handfuls of your ass as he groans against your mouth.

“Fuck,” he curses. “This little fuckin’ bikini has been torturin’ me all day.”

“Why don’t you just take it off then?” You offer. He pulls back to watch your face as his fingers find the strings of your bottoms beneath the water, giving both sides a quick tug until you feel the material fall away. His hand creeps up your back, pulling at the strings holding your top together around your back and neck until they, too, fall away.

Joel walks the two of you forward until your back collides with the rough stone of the pool wall.  He presses a muscular thigh between your legs, boxing you in with his body. Your hips jerk at the sudden pressure and friction against your bare pussy, a moan slipping from your lips as Joel presses kisses to your jaw and neck, nipping the delicate skin with his teeth.

“You gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice making a shiver dance down your spine despite the Texas heat. “Those sounds are just for me, isn’t that right?”

You nod your head quickly and he rewards you with another toe curling kiss. Your hips rock against his thigh and he swallows every little whimper as his hands explore your body.

“Joel,” you whine. His fingers pinch and pull your nipples before he soothes them with sweet circles of his calloused thumb.

“What’s the matter, baby?” He asks. One of his hands slides across your thigh and your breath hitches as he brings it dangerously close to your pussy before trailing it back down. “You need somethin’?”

“Need you to touch me.”

“That right? You want me to take care of that pretty little pussy?”

“Mhm,” you hum. “Please.”

“So polite. Where’s all that attitude from earlier, hm?” Joel asks, sarcasm dripping from every word. You narrow your eyes at him.

“I can be rude, Miller. You want that instead?”

“Trust me, I know, but I think I like you better when you’re beggin’ for me,” he replies with a grin. 

Joel’s hands grab onto your waist and he hoists you up onto the ledge. His broad shoulders press against the back of your thighs and his arms drape across your hips. He smiles at you, mouth tauntingly close to where you’re desperate for relief. You lean back on your elbows, the concrete warm against your bare skin and the sun washing over you.

“How about you show me those nice manners one more time?” He asks. 

You grit your teeth. “Joel, I swear to god I will go inside and lock you out–”

Your threats are cut off by your startled moan as he licks through your folds, broad swipes of his tongue from your fluttering entrance to your aching clit. His sweet brown eyes are sinful as he looks up at you from between your thighs, devouring your pussy like his last meal. His nose rubs against your clit each time his tongue dips inside of you and you’re quickly reduced to a writhing mess.

You shift your weight to one arm and reach down with the other to tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans appreciatively against your cunt, the vibrations making you keen. When your hips start to fight against his hold, his lips wrap around your clit, sucking and rolling it with his tongue.

“Fuck, fuck, just like that,” you babble, trying to keep your voice down as you balance right on the edge of your orgasm. He hums again, tongue swirling over your clit until that final thread snaps and you free fall into oblivion, fingers curling tightly against his scalp and making him groan as he works you through your release.

Your limbs go boneless in the aftermath and you collapse against the ground, an arm over your eyes to block out the sun. You hear the sound of water sloshing before Joel lays beside you on his back, arms beneath his head. He turns to look at you, his bright smile making your heart flutter in your chest. 

And when he extends an arm out for you to snuggle up against him, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller isn’t such a bad neighbor after all.

“What do you mean you thought I was the asshole?!” Joel asks indignantly as he leaves your bathroom. He’s got a towel held up around his waist and you’re finding it hard to concentrate on his words at this exact moment.

You’ve just finished showering together after your outdoor activities, where you returned his poolside favor with some attention of your own. Now, you’re laying on the bed in your own towel, tired from the sun and the sex. 

You’ve also just admitted that you thought he was the worst neighbor. An asshole even. And now he’s looking at you like you’re insane.

“You stole my internet!” He exclaims. 

“You can’t prove that,” you reply, maybe a bit too quickly. He raises an eyebrow at you, but you refuse to back down.

“Fine, but you put all those twigs and shit on my porch.”

“They were from your tree, I was simply…returning your property.”

“And the cats?” He crosses his arms. “Because of you, my flowerbeds look like shit and I’ve lost two planters.”

“Not my fault they can sense you’re the weak link. They’re asserting their dominance. Hiss at them or something,” you say with a shrug.

Joel gapes at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“Look, it’s water under the bridge now, right? What can I do to make it up to you?”

He’s silent for a moment before a mischievous grin spreads across his face.

“Where’s that toy you bought, sweetheart?”

_________________

Joel’s got you on your back, your wireless vibrator placed snugly inside of your and against your clit. You’re glaring at him because he’s stopped you from another orgasm. He’s quickly becoming obsessed with that fire in your eyes and the curl of your lip when you’re mad at him.

He presses a trail of kisses from your ankle to the inside of your thighs, nipping the sensitive skin close to your pussy just to hear you gasp. He continues across your abdomen and your breasts, stopping to lavish attention to each sensitive nipple, your back arching against him for more.

“Joel,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He stretches up to capture your lips in a kiss, your lips dragging across his in the most addicting way. His cock slides against the smooth skin of your hip, making him groan. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the toy back on. “Oh, fuck!”

“Want you to come for me this time, baby,” Joel tells you. “Then I want you to come all over my cock, okay?”

You nod, back bowing and muscles straining as your writhe against the vibrations. Joel sits back on his heels to watch you, the way your mouth is dropped open in a silent shout and how your eyes find his at the exact moment you start to come undone.

“Oh my god,” you pant as Joel swiftly removes the toy, the pink silicone shiny with your release. He tosses it to the side and presses his cock to your fluttering hole, sinking inside of you with a deep groan. Your walls are still clenching with the aftershocks of your orgasm as he begins to thrust, slow and deep.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growls. He uses a hand to press one of your knees closer to your chest, his fingers wrapped tightly beneath your knee. 

The change in angle gets him deeper and his pace grows faster in response to your moans. He can feel you start to pulse around him, each drag of his cock out of your cunt getting harder as your walls squeeze, desperately trying to keep him inside. 

“Touch yourself,” Joel commands. “Wanna see you come for me again, pretty girl, come on.”

Your fingers find your clit, swirling through the mess of slick coating your folds. Your eyes are glued to him as you work yourself to the same rhythm of his thrusts. He knows you’re close when your eyes start to flutter, your head dropping back against the mattress and your thighs going tight against his hips.

“That’s it, good fuckin’ girl, just like that,” he growls as you come with a shout of his name. “Christ, you look so damn good.”

You blink at him, your eyes hazy and your smile languid as he chases his own release, using your sensitive cunt for his pleasure. When it gets to be too much, too close, he withdraws, fisting his cock with rough strokes until he comes in thick splashes against your belly.

He collapses on the bed beside you, both of your chests heaving with deep breaths. After a moment, he uses one of the towels to wipe you clean, tossing it to the floor. You glare at him. 

“You better put that in the hamper later,” you admonish. He pulls you into his side. 

“So, why exactly did you think I was an asshole neighbor?” He asks. To his surprise, you blush, mumbling something he can’t make out. “What?”

“I said because you beat me at the Halloween decorating contest.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You have the twelve foot skeleton and I’m jealous.”

“I’ll get you as many skeletons as you want,” Joel laughs. You smile at him.

“Sounds good to me, big guy.”

_________________

The following Halloween, there are two twelve foot skeletons in the neighborhood, and they live right next door to each other.

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