The neighbor's door opens at 7am and he coughs as the cold air reaches his lungs. I imagine him lighting up a cigarette as he walks across his driveway to start his truck. The diesel engines sounds like bass thumping through a speaker as it idles.
The coughing continues as he drags on his cig and sits on the red cooler next to his front door. I assume he's waiting for the truck to defrost itself since this habit of letting it idle is unique to the cold weather. Whatever his reason for it, I hate it.
I lay in bed and put my pillow over my face. I'd get up, but Kev is already in the shower so I have to wait my turn anyway. Instead of getting a few more minutes of sleep, I find myself counting all the reasons why I hate this neighborhood. The idling truck is almost loud enough to drown out my thoughts. Almost.
After 20 minutes, the truck is put in reverse and crunches over packed snow out its driveway. It revs and takes off up the street. Then there are just the sounds of Kev getting ready for work. The squeak and shriek as he turns off the water. The bang of the medicine cabinet. The hum of the heater as it is turned back on.
There is nothing I will miss about this neighborhood. I'll happily say goodbye to the dozens of dogs who surround our house and bark nonstop while left outside day and night, rain or shine. I won't even give the place a goodbye look when we finally get to drive away with our things once again packed in a moving truck. It will be a relief to leave.
Of course, the next place won't be perfect, but not being here will automatically give it an advantage.