Here he comes. His eyebrows are knitted in anger and his mouth forms an upside-down U on his face. He’s pissed. When he catches sight of me, I can see the cords in his neck tighten and his teeth clench.

“YOU BITCH,” he screamed. “WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT THE FLYING FUCK.”

I take a sip from my coffee. It’s almost cold by now. I guess I’ve been standing outside a little too long. I smack my lips and smile at the enraged individual.

“What’s up?”

“YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT’S UP,” he yelled, pointing his finger squarely at my chest, eyes bulging.

Puckering my lips into the most sarcastic grimace I can manage, I reply.

“I do? What could I possibly have done?” My eyebrows could not possibly be any higher on my face right now.

“FIFTEEN. FIFTEEN FUCKING SUBSCRIPTIONS TO ” EXTREME SEX TOY MONTHLY.” He held one of the offending magazines up for me to see. The mass of molded black plastic on the front could probably pass for contemporary art somewhere in Europe.

Perhaps it would help to fill you in on the details.

Six months ago, the pissed, red-faced man in front of me moved in a few houses down the street. From the moment I saw that man exit that car, I knew he would need to be taken down a few notches. This is not a high-class neighbourhood. If you check the model year on the cars here, none of them will begin with “2.”

I could see some of the other people on the street peeking through their windows. They were all checking out our new visitor. Black horn-rimmed glasses, tightly-fit sweater vest, crisply lined tan slacks. I was getting the mail at the time. He saw me from three doors down and walked over, hand extended, huge grin on his face.

“Howdy, bud! Sure is nice around here!”

I wish I could’ve given you an exact description of my face at the time, but unfortunately, I don’t have the stretchability required to see ones own face.

I’m guessing it was a mix of amusement and irritation, because that’s what I felt.

A few seconds passed. He withdrew his hand, pretending that he’d never had it out in the first place.

“Well then…I guess I’d better get unpacking! Tons of work to do! Catch you later, new friend!”

He gave a huge wave and briskly walked away.

I got an invitation to his housewarming party a few days later. This would be the first step in familiarizing him with the neighbourhood. Picking up a few neatly coiled pieces of dog crap off the lawn, I put them into a pie crust and brought them over. I was kind of impressed, because despite the acrid, sour smell, he let it stay on his counter throughout the party.

This continued for weeks. It seemed nothing would wipe the smile off his face…at least until the topic of sex was breached. When “Sex & the City” was mentioned one day, I saw him tug a tiny cross around his neck. His face turned bright red.

The next day, seven hookers showed up at his door. I saw him lose his composure for the first time.

A day after that, seven gigolos showed up. I don’t think I’ve laughed harder at anything before in my life. He swore like a wounded pirate.

That’s pretty much it, you’re now caught up.

“YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING GET IT NOW, YOU CUNT!”

He raised his small fist and struck me right in the jaw. It didn’t really hurt, but I faked a stumble and a fall, smiling the entire time.

Welcome to the neighbourhood.