byI usually saw him surrounded by dancing Chihuahuas, but the little yappers were nowhere in sight. He was leaning against the dilapidated wood fence, staring at my house. From time to time I looked up from my iPad, squinting through the mesh netting of the screened-in patio. Yep. He was still there. And still staring. He was going on half an hour when I got up, donned my Ray-Ban Wayfarers, and stepped into the warmth of the late afternoon sun.
The spindly dark-skinned stranger continued to give the ratty fencing a workout as I cut across the small wanna-be lawn, turning on the faucet and picking up a hose. My place fronts one of Southern California’s famous Venice canals. My overgrown shrubbery blocks much of the view, though from where I stood I could see a stand-up paddleboarder streak
