The blinds were open. Everyone could see their business. A young, shapely wife walking around in nothing but a tee-shirt. Some dude smoking a joint and cleaning his shot gun; always holding that gun. And when he wasn’t holding it, the thing sat in his lap while he watched television all day long. Talk shows about people cheating on one another. Chairs flying around stage. Women crying and clawing each other’s eyes out. Cat fight TV.

At night, when he went to work at the factory, she’d sit in front of the glass sliding door naked, polishing her nails firey red. Adding lipstick of a bright pink, and brush her hair out. Boys around the neighborhood would watch from behind shrubs. One boy claimed it was better than his dad’s Playboys. They’d sit in wonder the whole time.

Every evening, except the weekend,when the moon came up, an orange Charger would pull into their driveway. This tall black man with long twisted hair would get out and go inside. Car stayed there all night until early in the morning when he’d come out and drive away. Same time every Monday through Friday. They’d blow each other kisses as he pulled out of the gravel driveway. A sweet goodbye.

A gunshot was heard around midnight. The dude’s rusted pickup was behind the Charger. A boy said he saw him walk into his house with the shotgun. Said he got it from his rack on the back, cracked, window, and then slammed the door. The boy also said he saw her lover lying there on the back deck of the house. Morning revealed a pool of blood on the wood.