I don’t know my neighbours. I know them by the cars they drive. The women and men they bring home. I know them from how long they keep their beards and how low or high their dresses usually are.
I know some by their reverse parking skills (often shameful). But I don’t know their names. Or what they do. Or who they are. With a few, we exchange curt nods of hellos whenever we run into each disposing of the trash.
