Abagail awoke to the sound of one of those stereotypical
car alarms, the kind before they programed them to do anything more than honk
loudly and flash their brights. She rolled over, taking her second pillow, the
one she usually saved for the morning after her head sweat through the first
one by morning, and pressed it up against her face, wrapping it around in hopes
of muffling the noise. It was a blaring cacophony of sound. After about five
minutes of it going Abigail stood, pulled on a night gown which immediately
stuck to her damp body, and threw her window up, prepared to yell at the top of
her lungs.
First she looked across the street, the Jones’ car was
silent, and so were the Cohen’s four cars. Her adjusting eyes caught the lights
flashing into the street and followed them back to her own driveway. The light
illuminated shards of glass and spray paint along her white cement driveway. A
crudely drawn swastika and the words “Get out while you still can” in a thick
black marred the once clean strip.
Outraged, Abagail picked up her phone and dialed the
Cohen family. Standing by the open window she could hear their house phone
ringing, the faint sound of the caller ID mispronouncing her last name almost
made her smile.
“Please leave a message after the tone.”
“Hey, it’s Abagail, from across the street. How come you
didn’t tell me there were Nazi’s before I bought the house?”
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