Tell You Something...

2.00a.m.1

There is a man I know who should be awake at this hour. He hides behind the face of a man but he is something else inside. Should you meet this man, I'd warn you to keep your distance and take caution. He is abnormal.2

It is unfortunate I live next door to this strange man. I had no choice. Afterall, this apartment down this creepy alley was the cheapest I could find. For a space this big, I should have paid more. It's funny I never realised why this place was so cheap.3

Nobody wanted to live here. Nobody who knew wanted to live here. Nobody. Nobody except me. 4

The name's Richard. Richard Can. Now don't you make fun of that last name I got there, or I'm gonna show you a fist or two. Anyway, getting back to why I was so stupid to not have known about the history of this place in the beginning. Well, I come from a very small town in the outskirts, many many miles away from this town. A teenage boy, had a fit with my parents and needed to escape. Else, I'd be milking cows all my life.5

People always give me stares when I go out to get some groceries. I really don't know why. Maybe they think I'm connected to the strange man living next door. You're probably going to think the same thing if you live on this same block I live in. But that's not true. Richard Can and Sunny don't have and will never have anything in common.6

Ever since I moved here, I realised how much I miss the cows at home. I do mean that literally. The morning cockadoo of the chickens at home; man, I had to replace that with a digital clock which doesn't even work. It was a ripoff. Paid eighteen smacking dollars for a broken piece of junk. I bet my grandpa'd be laughing his teeth off, if he'd had any, if he'd seen me like this. I hear his voice mocking me everyday. Oh, the dread. I wish my dad was still here with us. Then he wouldn't be the head of everything and butt in on everything we do. Then I wouldn't have left and ended up in this lousy place I am now compelled to call home. This place was what he forced me to be in. This piece of filthy house is what I call home. If he'd apologised to me that day. Hah, but to depend on Mr Can senior to apologise you'd had to turn the sky green first. I wish that day could come. I wish my brains out he'd apologised. I wish.7

I'm stuck here now, waiting for a big break. My neighbour's a creepy guy I didn't bring a gift for during Christmas. I heard he doesn't bathe. But then who can believe the words coming out of the mouth of Susie Tong? Mind you, she thinks that a dwarf hides under her bed. She is an widow. Her husband died of a incurable disease she describes as "...a curse. And there is nothing more to it. I told him not to fish near Lake Lulaboo."8

I pity Susie sometimes; my heart goes out to her. Really. She is too superstitious for her own good. And you know what? She doesn't in shopping in supermarkets, only minimarts. And that's where I met her. A friendly character, I thought, with wry smile, as if something had happened but she was trying hard to forget. Looking at the bright side of things instead of the other side. Nobody likes the other side. But then again, I've only seen her a few times at the minimart since I got here. She does shopping online mostly. Don't ask me how she bought the computer but she has one, a very modern one at that. I haven't a clue how a secluded person like herself is capable of knowing so many things about my neighbour. She wasn't out there with the rest of the gossip folks (whom I know of as Mary and her gang), chatting away about the pains and miseries of others, condemning them for their faults and misdoings; not realising of course, they were not so perfect themselves either.9

She tells me things about him which I cannot tell between fact and opinion. For instance, she says my neighbour likes to eat catfood. Now, I don't know if she's got herself mixed up with my neighbour. See, she buys alot of catfood. Too much for her own good. She doesn't even have a cat, I reckon. And oh, did I tell you about her odour? She has the catfood smell. Something to think about before talking about discussing the similar habits of others with an individual, eh?10

She also tells me that this neighbour of mine lives alone. Well, something I already know, I said. No, no, she says. It's different. He lives alone and thinks alone. He's always alone. I didn't really understand her when she said this and I'm still puzzled over it today. Yes, I knew he was alone. There is always something wrong when somebody is alone, isn't it? He might be doing something, something strange and out of this world, nothing near the norm of things here at Brooke Street.11

Well, Brooke Street is a picture perfect region this this unidealistic world. At least, that's what the sign in front wants you to think.12

"Brooke Street, escape the world. This is the new world. Your world."13

Whoever came up with that catch phrase needs a checkup. Instant sanity with a psychiatrist. How nice would that be. Hah, they themselves need a checkup too, you know. Some of them are secretly going ga-ga. Who wouldn't? I bet some of them wake up every morning groaning, "What the funnel is wrong with my life", then straighten their tie (men and women) and drive to work with a smile telling patients, "Oh my, why you thinking that way? There is always something good with life!" I say wake up and smell the bin next to your office, Mr/Ms Psychiatrist. Sorry. No offence. I love you psychiatrists for working so hard to serve the public. But maybe take a break once in a while?14

I need a break too. 15

Some nights here at Brooke Street, 4th Avenue, 3rd floor are just eerie. I'm thinking of moving out but I just love the drama and mystery around this neighbour of mine. His personality, what he does. And you're probably wondering how Richard Can, a non-existant in this guy's life knows about him? Oh, by the way, I call him Mr Ponpon. So, alright. Mr Ponpon, how did Richard Can know that Mr Ponpon would be awake at this hour? Well now, that's for you to figure out. 16