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The Auteur Next Door

Image by WikiImages from Pixabay 

When we first moved here, my issue of The New Yorker had ended up in my neighbor’s mailbox. So she, a very attractive young woman about my age, brought it over.

“Well,” I mused to my wife, “That’ll save some time trying to impress the neighbors.”

Any given Sunday, I can be found on the porch reading Talk of the Town and smoking a cigar with a glass of wine.

Though those days are behind us, there was a time when DoorDash were frequent visitors here.

Including once when my pizza ended up on the aforementioned neighbor’s porch.

All this to say …

That these young, upper middle class folks that line our street, are beginning to realize that…

Orson Welles has moved in next door.