Nitpicking

What ever John was hammering the other night is in that basket placed on top of his cart. I am nitpicking, I suppose. I can easily squeeze between wall and cart should I want to exit complex via side gate. I wonder what he has stuffed in those blue jeans hanging over basket edge.

When I open my backdoor, I startle, catching the jeans out of corner of eye, thinking there is a person out there. This morning, March 9, 2012, there is some trash added to bottom of cart. Since I heard Tweety talking, I did not move closer to investigate. What ever is inside the zip lock seal baggies, looks like the other stuff, which from my distance looks like rolled up sanitary napkins.

Wish Mr. Manager had started eviction procedures on both John and Chris, a year ago, or at least back in September or October. Truly, I may be nitpicking, but it is awful rude to block the narrow sidewalk in any manner, and John started doing that since he first moved into the complex. I would move the bicycle tire wheels, out of my way, better than trying to jump over them. I have moved his mops after they sat out there for days on end, mop heads leaning on fence greenery, handle stretched out on sidewalk.

Even his bicycle annoys me; mainly because he took Victor's discarded large, planter to put next to his door, thus his bike was under my window. I understand leaving a mop outside to dry, have done it myself, but not here. I have also hung clothes on chain link fence to dry. But not on top of greenery, only when sun was shining directly on them, close to my apartment, for an hour or two tops.

I would not think to hang my underwear out there as John does with his. Not that is a big deal to see men's boxer shorts or briefs blowing slightly in the breeze. Yet it seems John thinks the entire back of building belongs to him and him alone; else he would not be leaving stuff outside his back door which is next to the public access gate.