Terry dedicated one of his ears to the sounds of his neighborhood through the slightly cracked window with the blinds drawn.  The other he used to filter in as much as possible of the evening news from the television.  Both of his eyes stared fixedly at a spot on the wall in between, but not nearer, either source of concern.  Crucifixes of varying sizes and craftsmanship adorned the duplex living room, serving as constant reminders and warding off things not in accordance with the divine rights of man.  His children John and Heidi, ages seven and eight, sat quietly on the floor, Indian style, watching news they did not understand.  Gina, his wife, sat in a lazy boy leafing through a stack of bi-monthly religious fliers and publications quietly concerned about her husbands most recent determinations.   Outside a car door shut.  Terry quickly turned and leaned over the back of the couch spreading the vertical binds with his fingers.  Two doors down, Jones the electrician, disappeared behind the hedges leading to his porch from the driveway.  Gina and the children held their breath waiting silently for a reaction.  Terry combed the area with eyes finally bringing them to a rest on the parking spot nearest his front door in the shared driveway.  It was still empty but it never stayed that way, not anymore.  He shot a furtive glance down the street in both directions, and finding nothing, flopped back around to his seat at the end of the empty couch.  Gina returned to a pamphlet and the children quickly looked back to the television trying desperately to look as though they had not turned away in the first place.  Terry breathed angrily and ground his teeth.  The heaviness of his breath suffocated any hope of easiness for the remainder of the evening.  Terry waited for that car and his family felt that it certainly must be close to bedtime.    On I-270, not fifteen miles away, Brandt swerved dangerously in and out of lingering rush hour traffic in route, pointedly, to the parking spot nearest Terry’s front door.  In one hand a cigarette pointed towards the slightly cracked window and with the other he gently placed a marijuana pipe into the center console.  Compact discs and technical documents covered the seats and floor in no discernable order with the exception of the note that he had found under his windshield wiper earlier that morning.  He sang out loud and bobbed his head, reveling more than necessary, in the yellow hue his sunglasses projected on top of the world.   Noticing that it was 7:00, Terry clicked the power button on the remote and the television fell dark, crackling with static electricity.  His son turned and looked at him with wide and fearful eyes, “Father can we stay up and watch the Simpsons?”  He asked.  “No.”  Terry stared fiercely at his wife, and she, knowing intimately the weight of the glare, did not bring her eyes to meet his.  “The Simpsons?  Gina have you been monitoring their interactions with the neighborhood kids?”  She did not reply.  “Bedtime! Now.”  The children rose like small soldiers and marched up the stairs.  Permanent dejection from the ordinary affairs of modern children forced their chins low and left their arms, unable to sway in stride with life, still at their sides.  After brushing their teeth they knelt in front of their beds and repeated softly the required prayers each with a secret amendment, John for a JD Razor scooter, and Heidi for a place in the clouds - away.   Strangely coveting the scent of gasoline, Brandt scratched his balls and stared at the passing cars, listening to the sounds of the town as it drifted eagerly from work to play.  The abrupt release of the pump handle whisked him back from a non-specific daydream and he replaced the nozzle carefully.  Inside the BP he accidentally dropped some change while fumbling through his pockets in an effort to pay and watched as a quarter rolled down the aisle behind him and under the shelving.  A western style cap gun caught his attention on the shelf directly above where the quarter had disappeared.  He asked the cashier politely to excuse him for a moment and walked down the aisle to the cap gun, grabbing two packs of Lick-M-Aide and a red diamond ring sucker on the way.  Pulling out into traffic moments later, he realized that he had forgotten to buy cigarettes and said aloud, “Shit.”   Terry walked through the house turning off lights and ensuring that everything was in its proper place.  He turned the deadbolts, centered the TV Guide on the coffee table, and blew some dust from a set of praying hands sculpted from wood. He walked to the stairs and stopped.  He turned to walk in the other direction and stopped again.  He placed his hands in the small of his back and glanced surreptitiously at the far reaches of the corridor.  A jolt of pain shot through his cheek and frightened him, not realizing that he had been chewing his own skin.  He swabbed the inside of his mouth with a finger and wiped the pinkish spittle on his shorts.  Curses and ill thoughts swam through his head.  They crept toward his tongue but were swallowed, sent back to the depths of his soul to fraternize and learn from the others.  He wondered if perhaps his blood sugar hadn’t got away from him just a bit.    Brant quickly crossed three lanes of traffic and hit the Cleveland Ave exit ramp doing 75 miles per hour, all the while straining to get a grip on an unruly nose hair using the rear view mirror as a guide.  He merged with the slow moving traffic and half knowingly coasted through a red light.  He was now beginning to wonder if Terry would be in the driveway when he arrived, coveting the precious parking spot that he himself did not even use.  Brandt had come to enjoy staring down Terry, the prospect of angering him, confusing him, and not responding in the least to his requests.       Terry slumbered back to the living room and sat in his spot at the end of the empty couch.  As was becoming a habit, he turned and raised the blinds enough to see the driveway - to see the parking spot.  A light from the upstairs window of the neighbors' half of the house cast a gentle glow on the asphalt.  Waves of red, yellow, green, and blue morphed dreamily through an oil slick where there formerly was none.  Terry became dizzy and his eyes grew heavy.  He fought to stay alert, calling on anger from his gut, but it was not enough and he began to remember…  He remembered Stephanie Moreno and how his father had forbidden him to see her after school, how he listened through the window nightly to her gentle laughter as she played with the other boys long after he had been put down to bed, how he asked her to the county fair and how she had laughed.  But most importantly he remembered seeing her fornicate with the football players behind the stadium on Friday nights several painful years deeper into his maturity.  These games he had neither the permission nor the skill to play.  He closed his eyes snugly and tightened his shoulders.  Clowns emerged from the backs of his eyelids laughing loudly and fashioning balloon animals that would burst just as they were extended to within his reach.  The small explosions faded into the flickering of flames atop large white candles carried by hooded men in dark robes.  They continued in single file lines, splitting at his forehead, and formed a circle consummated by the last member of each line.  They hummed the sounds of clavichords and the ominous roar of an ancient pipe organ.  The circle drew in tight and they knelt down in silence… A shiver ran up Terry’s spine and he looked out to see that the spot was still empty.  He turned off the lamp and dejectedly climbed the stairs to tell his wife something and turn in for the night.   Brandt entered the driveway and carefully maneuvered his car as closely as possible to Terry’s front door, concealing the dreamy oil slick on the asphalt.  He dropped a cigarette to the ground, snuffed it out with the sole of his shoe then kicked it into the fresh mulch lining the front steps of Terry’s half of the duplex.  He climbed partially into the car through the passenger door and began to stuff things under his arm and into his pockets.  He grabbed the note that lie on the seat, crumpled it into a ball, and placed it neatly into the flowerpot that was intended to enrich Terry’s porch but somehow fell short.  Grabbing a begonia by the stem, he slid his fingers up to the bulb and popped it off with his thumb.  The remaining two flowers he pulled from the soil and then sneaked through his door to the kitchen where he placed them in tap water as a gift to Allyson.             Terry rinsed the baking soda from his mouth and turned out the bathroom light.  He walked down the hall to the bedroom, gritting his teeth as he passed the window, and paused to consider looking at the driveway one final time.  Unsure if he could handle another gastric upsurge, he continued to the bedroom without looking.  As he entered the room, Gina, who had been reading, slid a place holder into the book and placed her reading glasses on the nightstand next to a box of tissues.  She pulled the comforter up snugly around her neck and turned to her side.  Terry pulled the white Hanes tank shirt over his head and threw it into the empty hamper.  He slid into bed and turning out the light said to his wife, “Don’t forget to pay the water bill and get my prescription filled.”  Ensconced in her nightly prayers she did not reply. Terry, anticipating what he would find in the morning, neglected to say his as had happened nearly every night since the neighbors had moved in.   Taylor sprang from the couch, temporarily forgetting about Bart and Homer, at the sound of his father’s keys sliding across the kitchen counter.  He rounded the corner at top speed and found Brandt standing in the middle of the kitchen like a cowboy preparing for a duel at high noon.  He stopped abruptly as Brandt drew the toy gun from his belt and capped off a round.  Taylor screamed in excitement.  As Allyson entered the kitchen to see what the commotion was all about, she found Taylor jumping at Brandt’s extended arm, the smoking gun, and the sulfuric residue of the burnt cap permeating the room.  “Now boys, no horseplay in the house.  How many times do I have to tell the both of you?”  She smiled and patted Taylor lovingly on the rear as he took the gun and headed for the back porch.  “Why don’t you take it down and show Kayla.”  Brandt suddenly remembered the Lick-M-Aide.  “Hey Kid,” he yelled and tossed the candy to Taylor, “Share this with Kayla too.  And be home in one hour.  You make it on time and I’ve got one more treat before bed.”  Taylor smiled and headed out the door leaving it swinging in the evening breeze.    Brandt dropped three ice cubes into a rocks glass and poured several ounces of Canadian whiskey over them.  Steam rose from the ice but was quickly replaced with the crackling carbonation of a Diet Coke.  He walked to the living room and joined Allyson on the couch where she was casually smoking and watching television.  Not particularly interested in the TV, Brandt looked around the room for something to occupy his leisurely brain.  A sheet of paper poked out of his laptop case and he recollected the fruit of his mid-morning collaborations.  “I’ll be right back.”  He stood and pulled the paper from his bag.  Allyson followed him to the door and watched out the foyer window as Brandt tiptoed barefoot to Terry’s car and carefully placed a piece of paper under his wiper.  He took two steps back, placed his hands on his hips, and then extended the courtesy of his middle finger to Terry’s car.  “What was that?”, asked Allyson as he re-entered the house.  “Oh that.  It was nothing, really.  Just a little essay me and some friends wrote for Terry today.  You know about humans and spatial relationships.  Love and the Art of War.”  He smiled.  “Come on let’s go make just enough noise to disturb the hour of sleep.”  He reached out and juggled her left breast.  Allyson smacked his hand away and ran up the stairs giggling.