His name is Bishop and he lives across the street. He uses the front step as a soapbox. He stands out there for hours every day, making pronouncements to the universe that includes houses on every side of his. I’m not sure what he’s talking about. I don’t speak his language. But his voice is hard to block out. It would be better if it were a bass note, a deep arf. But it’s a high pitched yip. Yip, yip, yip. All day. Bishop has a lot to say.
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