The Persians

So I have this like-minded 24yo girl living in the apartment right behind me (wall-mates), and another 32yo girl living above her.  I don’t see them very often because I am secluded in the front with my nice patio and street parking.  However, one house over, are my neighbors.  After talking with my wall-mate this afternoon for quite some time I believe that the story of my neighbors might be of interest to you, because it was a tale of much interest for myself.  Be warned, this story does include sweet wooden rafters.

I met the mother and father a week after I had moved in.  I could tell they spoke very little english.  Upon discovering what I do and that I am living in my apartment alone, he exclaimed, "Oh so you are a professional!".  I replied with a confident: "Yes, I’m a professional."  It was an interesting interaction and I believe the first time that I have been regarded as a professional.  Regardless, they were both very kind and told me that they will henceforth consider me like a member of their family.  So now my Persian Dentist neighbor is my surrogate father.  Just what I have always wanted!

I come to find out they have three children, ranging from 16-30ish.  I have yet to meet the youngest two, however, I do know that the oldest lives in the garage.   He has thoroughly insulated the garage door so don’t you worry about that.  Upon meeting him, I asked him what he did, and his answer was everything in the world except what he actually did for a living.  This leaves me to believe that he does nothing, which must be quite thrilling.  My wall-mate confirmed my suspicions in a very secretive whisper.  However, he does drive a rather nice Mercedes.  My one goal while I am living in this apartment, for who knows how long, is to get into that Garage.  I must know what that place is like.  I picture a weight bench with a couple of bayntay (twenty for the laypesron) pounders on each end.  Maybe a goldfish bowl in the corner, with Goldy floating up top on his side.  And if this garage is anything like ours, he’s got sweet wooden rafters to hang things on, like model planes and mobiles.  Man I wish I had some sweet wooden rafters.  If I had sweet wooden rafters I would have to buy a pet monkey to swing between them.  And I’d give him an eye-patch and a knife so he could be pirate monkey.  I’m sure my garage neighbor has a pirate monkey.  After all he’s got sweet wooden rafters, and I don’t. 

Another worthwhile point of interest is their 8′x12′ gigantic Persian rug in their backyard.  It’s faded, ripped, and dog stained.  I just paid a hefty fee for a rug that size, and I can’t ever imagine why I would just lay it out on the concrete to weather and die.  Maybe if I tripped on the rug, and got angry at it, I would want to punish it.  So I would throw my rug outside and say "That’s it, you’re out."  However, I wonder what else a rug could do to be disowned like that.  Maybe if a rug was continually spilled on and didn’t fight the stains with the vigor that it should it could be tossed to the curb.  In either case, lets all agree to treat our rugs a little nicer.  This rug in their backyard has suffered enough for all the rugs in the world several times over. 

God I wish I had me some sweet wooden rafters and a pet pirate monkey. 

Sweet wooden rafters and a pet pirate monkey.
Give monkey eye patch and an extra long knifey.
Swings through the rafters and all through my place,
Why wont pirate monkey stop slinging poo at my face.

"Thats it monkey its time for a fight,"
I pull out my sword and turn out the light.
Pirate monkey and I battle in dark for days,
But pirate monkey won’t stop his poo flinging ways.

I swing to the right and I change up my stance,
And then I wear monkey down as he pants and he pants.
I cut him in two and with stench downright funky,
Sweet wooden rafters and one less pirate monkey.