The neighbour was saying that I keep parking my car in his driveway. Fuck that. What does he need the driveway for? He doesn't even have a car, well he does but it's a shitey little banger. He says he can't get his banger out of his drive because my car is in the way but I think that's a bit of a one-sided view. I mean, I have two cars and where am I supposed to park the other one? He should be happy to have my lovely car parked outside his house. People will think he owns it. People might think he isn't some loser, which, let's face it, he is. He went too far the other day though. He went way too far and scratched my car down the side with a set of keys. My car! My lovely new car that I worked hard to buy. My beautiful car; scratched by that philistine!
Anyway, he scratched the car so I went over there to talk with him about it. Just a talk. Reasonable like, as long as it's me doing the talking. I had things to say after all. I was the one that was wronged here. So, I headed over there but he just laughed at me. He refused to do anything about it, to make up for it, to compensate me or anything. Well, I wasn't having that so I barged into his house and put my boot up his arse. Then I booted his wife up the arse. Then I chased his kids around and gave each of them an arse kicking. You should have seen the look on his six year old's face after I gave him a right boot that sent him flying. It was kind of a bewildered look. Not angry or fearful really, just more of a 'what the fuck?' look. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. I just want us to get along. To share things. What's the matter with sharing? That's what I was roaring out as I went around the neighbour's house setting fire to his curtains and throwing his furniture through his windows. 'WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH SHARING?' I roared out over and over again. I was in some danger myself, storming around the blazing rooms like I was, but it was worth it. Like mighty Samson I thought, 'let me die with the philistines'. Anyway, I didn't die and got out of there in time to set up a blockade to prevent the fire brigade from arriving and helping out the car scratching terrorist. A lot of the neighbour's gaff burnt down that night and there was a bit of a to do in the following days. The other neighbours were giving me dirty looks and the U.N. dropped around and said that my actions were disproportionate. I said they weren't and the U.N. said Ok and then they fucked off.
I'm going around there again tonight to set light to his garden shed. Then I'm going to smash down the wall to his living room and drive my car right into his house and park it right in front of his telly. That'll learn him. That'll learn him not to share and live peacefully and in harmony with me on my terms. My reasonable terms. I just want a better neighbourhood you see. For me, for him, for everyone.
I can't seem to shake that look his six year old gave me though. That confused look. Confusion mixed with something else. Confusion mixed with hurt, a profound kind of hurt. I'll try not to dwell on it. I'll think about the scratch on my car instead. I'll think about how justice has been served and will go on being served until there is no one left to serve it to.