This is my old neighbor Ron. Tattooed, sullen, and fluffy-haired, he was a fixture at my apartment for two years, spending 98% of his day chain smoking and binge drinking Mountain Dew on our stoop.
I was wary of him for a while until I came home one sticky summer night around 2 a.m., posted up on the steps, and asked him about himself.
Two hours later, I’d learned that Ron is British, unbelievably nice, and beloved by women with a Jagger fetish. That he’s an ex-member of a Harley gang, is actually quite shy and has seen the Rolling Stones live 46 times.
Ron recently got kicked out of our apartment building after his ten year stay — under the pretense of our preppy landlord “needing to redo his room”.
But according to my porch friend, this was a cover for “You play your music too loudly and don’t look the way I want you to” and I miss his stories, and raspy laugh, around 2 a.m. most nights.
hobbit house // rotorua, new zealand
- Q: "You write women really well, where does that come from?"
- George R.R. Martin: "You know, I’ve always considered women to be people."