Hot Fun in the Summertime

It's summer again.

It can reach 90 degrees in April and October, but the true sign of summer is outdoor domestic violence incidents.

I'm a single mom (2 year old boy) who lives on the ground floor on a quiet street dead-ended by a Catholic Church. Normally the nights are silent, after the few kids are called in from their skateboarding.

I was snuggled on the mattress on the floor watching my now-sacred hour of tv after my kid's asleep, when right outside my window, I heard banging, crashing of garbage cans, a baby crying, a child crying, and 2 or 3 people running. Some women yelled frantic profanities.

"You dare bring this trash inside my house?" my next door neighbor, Mindy, yelled.

Something like, "I'm the man here--I can do whatever...!" was yelled back.

I stayed in bed. You never know what anyone is packing these days. And if anything can make anyone crazy, it's family.

The police came. I didn't hear them pull up, but I heard their police radios for about a half hour.

When I got up this morning, the garbage cans had been knocked over.

I hate living by myself.