The writing prompt: write a one-page scene in the style of the “Valley Heat” podcast, but set in your own neighborhood (or an imagined one). Keep the tone deadpan, hyper-local, and lightly absurd. The narrator should be convinced that a small, mundane neighborhood issue is part of a much larger and deeply important investigation. Include at least one oddly detailed observation about a neighbor’s routine and one piece of overheard dialogue that the narrator interprets incorrectly.
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My neighbor Pat has a yard sale in his driveway year-round. And that’s annoying but the only thing he sells are Panama shirts. The shirts are pretty nice, but c’mon that’s got to be a violation of some city code or something. Pat says it’s the only way he can afford to sell the shirts and I said I don’t think he can run a business out of this house and he said, “Yes, but yard sale is not business,” then touched the side of his nose and winked at me like I’m in on it or something.
He has a heavy accent and I think his real name is Petrov because I overheard his wife call him Petrov, which is fine with me. I mean, we’re a country of immigrants but I don’t know who is making these Panama Shirts for him but they’re really nice. I mean, I have a few of them and really like them, but c’mon get a website. Every morning he rolls out racks of shirts and also sells some sandals and cheap sunglasses on fold up tables. And it’s pretty busy most days because these as I said are nice Panama Shirts. I never knew so many people liked them, and good for Pat because he’s an immigrant and probably had a hard life.
But then he starts selling pies, and I said to him, “Pat, what’s the deal? This is more than a yard sale with the shirts and sunglasses, and now you’re selling pies?” And he says, “People love pies. You don’t like?” I admit the pies are delicious. Pat’s wife makes them and I get about one a week, and she makes all the basic pies but also weird pies like lemon coffee bean and willow-bark banana cream and you’d think they’d be terrible but they’re delicious. But does he have to do it in the neighborhood? He should open a pie shop and sell coffee and he’d do great. “Too much overhead” he said, “this way I keep all the money. And I have espresso machine in the garage if you want something. For you, on the house.” So it’s Pat’s Pies and Panama Shirts yard sale and he must get the shirts from his home country because the quality is top notch. But I don’t want that next door to me. Plus he’s taking up all the street parking.
Then a few months ago he built a wrestling ring in his back yard and started having amateur wrestling matches every night. Pat installed bright lights up on poles and these scraggily guys in spandex and makeup show up to wrestle. The lights get swarmed with moths. I don’t know where they’re coming from but there’s a cloud of them around every light and of course some wander over to my house. I can’t tell you how many sweaters I’ve lost and Pat doesn’t seem to care. I tell him “Look at the holes in this sweater,” and he just says “How do you know those are my moths?” How do I know? How do I know? Because there’s an Armageddon of moths in his back yard every night. And when these amateur wrestlers get going they do these body slams and hit each other with chairs and the moths flinch in unison from the noise which creates a moth strobe light show, and some of these moths get confused and come to my house just for the peace and quiet. The Panama Shirts are made out of something the moths don’t like so Pat doesn’t care. And I asked if the moths are getting into the pies and he got pretty mad. “You think my pies have moths? Have you seen a moth in the pies you buy every week? If my wife wanted to, she could make moth pie and it would melt in your mouth so you dream about for a month!” and I said, “I’ll take the remark.” Then I pressed him on the wrestling matches saying it’s disrupting the neighborhood and he says, “Is just a hobby. I thought in America there is freedom for me to have a hobby.” And I thought maybe he has a point, but then he started serving hot dogs and beer at the matches because it developed a pretty good fan base. And if Terrible Tony is wresting, you don’t want to miss it. And the hot dogs and beers are top of the line, with no moths in either one. But street parking is still a big mess so I may have to call the city about it. But I’ll miss those pies, for sure.