Page 3
You don’t have a choice. You need Quade’s idiot help on this one. You swallow your pride and go next door.
The phrase “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence” does not apply to you, because Quade’s grass is overgrown, under-watered, and littered with trash. Also there’s no physical fence dividing your yards. If there was, your side of it would be well-maintained and his side would be covered in dog urine, which is saying a lot because he doesn’t have any dogs.
You walk up to his door and slowly knock three times, the universal knocking pattern for “I’m a neighbor and I just need a quick favor that won’t require any of your physical resources.” You get no response. You try again with a two knocks in rapid succession, code for “I know your house isn’t big enough for you not to hear those knocks, and I just wanted remind you I’m here in case you got distracted on the way to the front door.” No answer.
You give the door one more forceful knock and it creaks open. You let yourself in, and the first thing you notice is that the house is completely decorated with furniture that you and your neighbors threw out, as well as your missing patio furniture, which you clearly did not intend to throw out. The second thing you notice is Quade’s dead body, sprawled across the couch you put on the curb after your friend threw up on it. His pants are off and he has a plastic bag over his head.
“Autoerotic asphyxiation,” you say to yourself. “Didn’t think he had it in him. Huh. Guess you learn something new every day.” As you scavenge the house for things that Quade has borrowed and never returned over the years, you find what appears to be his suicide note. You know you probably shouldn’t, but it’s just too juicy not to read:
Dear World,
I am alone. Nobody will even care that I am dead. As I leave this world, I leave behind nothing but a house full of stolen furniture and a neighborhood full of people disgusted by me.
You stop for a moment, partially to reflect on just how true everything you’re reading is, partially because you hear the sound of an ice cream truck in the distance and partially because your fingers have smudged the note a little bit. That’s when it hits you: the note must have been written with a fountain pen, and you know from spying on Quade for the last week that he only uses ball point pens. You’re a bit suspicious that this whole situation is a little too good to be true…
To keep reading the note, turn to page 10.
To get some ice cream, turn to page 14.
2 years ago • Notes