I'm sitting here alternately working on Stag in Velvet, the unfinished but so far very good third book in the Weredeer series, and Exile III, and of course my neighbors are in their yard. Because they always are. Sometimes I wonder if maybe their house is just a facade and they sleep in the yard too.
They just fired up the grill. The smell of lighter fluid and charcoal is distracting me from pwning the lizardmen in the Golddale mine. I wouldn't mind the neighbors entertaining eight feet from my studio window if they'd, you know, invite me over. Just to be neighborly, of course, since naturally I'd say no.
Unless they're grilling steaks. Then I might go over and be sociable. Because I did go to high school with one of them.
I could pitch in with a brand new bag of Sun Chips.
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