Feb 252017
 

It’s been nearly two weeks of pure neighborless bliss over here on Pioneer. I kept putting this blog post on the back burner though because I was so afraid that I was going to jinx the situation, but it’s really looking like Boots will not ever be coming back here so…story time!

I wasn’t here when it happened, but allegedly on the morning of February 13th, some kid ran over to Hot Naybor Chris’s neighbor and said that he had been robbed and asked if he saw a man with the description of Boots.

This is where details get hazy because that neighbor told Hot Naybor Chris who told Henry who told me. Major telephone game in action, and then you have to factor in Henry’s abysmal story-telling skills.

The next thing HNC’s neighbor knew, cops from three different areas had rolled up with a police dog and started searching around our block of houses. Then they came back with the landlord who let them into Boots’ house, and they questioned the random man who was living there with Boots. I guess that dude wasn’t involved in anything because they let him go back in the house.

(He’s the guy that Boots was fighting with the weekend before this happened, and that guy was heated because Boots had apparently stolen three packs of cigarettes from his room.)

Then the police left and found Boots somewhere down the street and ARRESTED HIS GUMBY ASS.

Man, I thought for sure it was going to be for drugs, but it turns out he robbed and assaulted some old man, which appears to be unrelated to the young guy who was questioning HNC’s neighbor so what was that all about?! (I don’t know HNC’s neighbor’s name, but we call him Brookline Shawn because he’s always in the driveway working on his car and he reminds us of Wendy’s husband Shawn. #coolstory)

SEE? I wish I had been here. I hate that I got the FOURTH-HAND account of that day’s sordid events.

I was really worried that Boots was going to get out of jail and come right back, but our landlord was like, “Nope, I’m posting a notice of abandonment on his door” so this is basically the perfect out for our landlord to be able to evict that sleazy-ass motherfucker with ease.


Peace out, Boots. 

And true to his word, the notice was posted!

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Guys, that Cap’n Crunch box has been taped up over a broken window for two months. SO CLASSY. I can’t tell you how many times I’d be walking down the sidewalk and catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye and think someone was watching me.

Chooch was standing on Boots’ porch and reading the sign the other day, when the guy who lives in the house next to ours came out and said, “Your friend’s gone, huh?” and Chooch was like, “Stop talking to me, stranger” but the guy went on to say, “He was a loud one, wasn’t he? Sorry you had to deal with that.” I would like to point out that HE LIVES IN A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT HOUSE and could hear how loud that derelict was.

Boots’ real name was written on the sign, so Henry diligently looked him up and that dumb motherfucker has quite the rap sheet. It seems his life took a turn in 1987 and he continued to make poor choice after poor choice. We learned that he was already on probation when this happened (which makes sense because there was one normal-looking guy who would visit sometimes and Henry joked that it was probably his parole officer. So, it was probably his parole officer).

“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Henry laughed, when I said that I was afraid he was still going to come back. For the next day or two, some weird people were over there slithering in and out of the house like cockroaches, probably getting their weird shit out of the house. But ever since the notice was posted, no one has been back.

Except for the actual contractors who have been over there doing the work that Boots was supposed to be doing, and probably fixing the additional damage Boots did in the short time he inhabited that side of the house.

It’s nice to know that we were living next to an aggravated assaulter, robber, and fucking drug addict. What a piece of shit. GOODBYE FOREVER. 

(Although, sometimes when it’s too quiet in our house, I swear I can hear him over there WOOing and yelling to himself, like phantom pains IN MY HEAD.)

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