(no subject)
The house is perfect. Almost, anyway. It needs redecorating to look identical to his parents' house, well, the bits he likes anyway. He might decorate the dining room lego style, and there's no need to redo one of the rooms in Barbie Pink when he could make it into a second study.
He goes around to introduce himself to the neighbours either side. The first is a single man in his fifties, who is still in his pyjamas at half twelve.
"Hello, I am your new neighbour, my name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu but I like to be called Fry."
"Yeah? So what?" The man asks, raising his eyebrows.
"I believe it is a social convention to introduce oneself to new neighbours."
"You used to live four doors down, Sandhu." The man replies. "You're not a new neighbour, I've known you ever since that time you broke into my garden to repaint my fence."
"Oh, yes, April 12th 2015." Fry muses. "My intentions were pure. In any case, I now live next door, and I know not to enter other people's property without permission even to do them a favour, so I'm sure we'll get on well."
He turns and leaves the bewildered man behind, in order to go next door the other side. A rather harrassed looking mother answers the door; the crying of small children can be heard.
"Hello, I am your new neighbour, my name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu but I like to be called Fry."
"Uh huh. Well, nice to meet you, I'm Myra Westbourne. If any of my boys give you trouble you just give me a call, otherwise I'm afraid we don't really have time to entertain. I have six boys; Tyrone is fourteen, Ryan is twelve, Byron is eleven, Cyrus is nine, Cyril is six and Tyrese is two."
Fry nods, remembering that it's rude to question people on their choice of children's names.
"I will remember those names."
"Do you need anything honey?"
"No thank you, my parents live four doors down."
He says goodbye and heads back into the house, then pops out to do some more shopping. When he gets back, he hears a noise in the kitchen, puts his decorating stuff down and investigates.
There is someone going through his fridge. He freezes, wondering how they got in, who they are, what they want. Should he get Dad? Should he confront the intruder? What if they have a knife?
He fidgets worriedly and retreats upstairs. He doesn't have much downstairs worth stealing, so he hopes the intruder will go away. Maybe he can call the police without being heard.
He finds the door to the bar and goes through. Perhaps he can get some advice.
He goes around to introduce himself to the neighbours either side. The first is a single man in his fifties, who is still in his pyjamas at half twelve.
"Hello, I am your new neighbour, my name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu but I like to be called Fry."
"Yeah? So what?" The man asks, raising his eyebrows.
"I believe it is a social convention to introduce oneself to new neighbours."
"You used to live four doors down, Sandhu." The man replies. "You're not a new neighbour, I've known you ever since that time you broke into my garden to repaint my fence."
"Oh, yes, April 12th 2015." Fry muses. "My intentions were pure. In any case, I now live next door, and I know not to enter other people's property without permission even to do them a favour, so I'm sure we'll get on well."
He turns and leaves the bewildered man behind, in order to go next door the other side. A rather harrassed looking mother answers the door; the crying of small children can be heard.
"Hello, I am your new neighbour, my name is Alexander Jefry Sandhu but I like to be called Fry."
"Uh huh. Well, nice to meet you, I'm Myra Westbourne. If any of my boys give you trouble you just give me a call, otherwise I'm afraid we don't really have time to entertain. I have six boys; Tyrone is fourteen, Ryan is twelve, Byron is eleven, Cyrus is nine, Cyril is six and Tyrese is two."
Fry nods, remembering that it's rude to question people on their choice of children's names.
"I will remember those names."
"Do you need anything honey?"
"No thank you, my parents live four doors down."
He says goodbye and heads back into the house, then pops out to do some more shopping. When he gets back, he hears a noise in the kitchen, puts his decorating stuff down and investigates.
There is someone going through his fridge. He freezes, wondering how they got in, who they are, what they want. Should he get Dad? Should he confront the intruder? What if they have a knife?
He fidgets worriedly and retreats upstairs. He doesn't have much downstairs worth stealing, so he hopes the intruder will go away. Maybe he can call the police without being heard.
He finds the door to the bar and goes through. Perhaps he can get some advice.