The guy in the car

For the past couple of (few?) months, we’ve had a guy sit in his car across the street from our house every morning for about an hour. He was a middle-aged guy, who read the paper and sometimes drank coffee, usually with the window down. Always parked in the same spot on the street. Then I’d glance outside and he’d be gone. He was typically there sometime between 8 and 1o in the morning. Every morning. Seven days a week.

His purpose was a matter of great speculation in the household. Was he trying to get away from a noisy household for a little peace and quiet to read the paper? Was he a private detective watching someone on our street? Was he waiting for someone who was working in the area? My visiting brother-in-law and my husband both volunteered to sidle up to him and just ask. I thought about surreptitiously jotting his license plate down while walking Wilson one morning. But, I mean, what’s wrong with a guy just sitting in his car reading the paper?

But WHY was he doing it?

The issue is moot now. He’s gone. It’s day three that he hasn’t shown up and I guess this will remain a mystery. I realize, though, that I have become one of those nosy neighbours who wonders about the comings and goings of people around me.

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