*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: Yes, I need an editor. No, I don't want an editor. If this fact bothers you that much, kindly stop reading now.
Yes, it jumps around too much. Yes there's too many people to keep track of. Yes it's too long. Yes it's too short. Yes, it's in the wrong category. Yes, this is stupid shit, and yes I am a horrible writer, barely literate.
For everyone else, I hope you enjoy this little tale.
*****
Harold Melancon decided to sell the large, overbearing home when his wife suddenly announced that she wanted a divorce. They were coming up on their thirty eighth anniversary, he had just retired from his job, and then she announced she no longer 'felt that spark' and wanted a divorce.
Shirley Melancon apparently 'felt that spark' with Sam, a thirty eight year old Investment Broker. "Doesn't matter," Parker Johnson told Harold when Harold said Shirley had never worked a day in her life, and therefore had never contributed dime one to the purchase of and upkeep of their home. "She still gets half."
Shirley tried for spousal support but Parker Johnson pointed out that Shirley was already cohabitating with Sam; let Sam support her. Judge Steven Hill decreed that Mrs. Melancon would have to make do with one half of the proceeds from the sale of their home and one half of Harold's 4O1K plan.
Because Harold Melancon had also worked for Pilot Petroleum Exploration and Development Incorporated for forty one years, he would be collecting Social Security. Shirley, having filed for divorce before Harold began to collect this monthly entitlement, would not be receiving any portion of this.
Shirley's boyfriend's smirk as they left the courthouse pissed Harold off. Because he still did one hundred pushups and 100 sit-ups every morning, because he ran/jogged/walked twenty miles every morning on his treadmill, Harold knew he could pound the chubby little bastard's face in.
Looking at the chinless pasty faced man with the obvious comb over with his doughy body, Harold wondered how Shirley could 'find that spark' with the man. He got into his serviceable sedan, a 1991 model. In his rear view mirror, he saw Sam and Shirley getting into a brand new Mercedes-Benz.
"Aw cher, that answer that," Harold thought, then called the office of Carmen Davis.
The real estate broker met Harold and Shirley out at the modest DeGarde home; Sam wisely did not come within reach of Harold Melancon. Carmen made a list of suggested upgrades, then got down to dollars and cents.
And six months after her little announcement, Harold gave Shirley a check for her half of the sale of their home, minus half the cost of upgrades. She did complain about that and Harold told her to take him to court. He also gave her half of the 4O1K.
"Might want put all that where he can't get it," Harold said, indicating Sam with a nod of his head.
"We getting married next month, yeah," Shirley announced in a haughty tone of voice. "So, ain't none your business what we doing with my money.
"Okay," Harold shrugged, again resisting the urge to punch the smirking Sam in his toad-like face.
Harold had enough money to purchase another home, had enough money to move to Florida, buy a motor home and tour the country. Instead, he decided to rent one side of a duplex in Bender, Louisiana. His monthly Social Security check would pay the rent, the utilities, his groceries, and any frivolous expenditure he might want, within reason.
"Man, cutting that grass fifty years now, let someone else do it, huh?" he smiled and signed a one year lease for the two bedroom, two bathroom unit.
James Taylor had been his investment counselor when Harold was with PPEDI, so Harold gave the man carte Blanc to continue managing his portfolio. James arranged to send Harold a monthly statement; again, Harold saw that he could afford a few luxuries that Shirley had denied him over the years.
A subscription to Parasols Magazine was his first indulgence. His second was a meal at the Dead End bar, a place Shirley strictly forbade Harold from going into. He even went into the Hurricane Room with a sweet faced strawberry blonde and blew a load in his boxers while she gave him a lap dance.
But, he decided, that was nearly three hundred dollars he would not be spending again.
"Oo-wee! That a lot of money yeah!" he thought as he drove to his new home.
Harold also decided he would try a new hairstyle. He shaved his balding head completely smooth. He also grew a goatee and mustache. Shirley saw him one day in Super One Foods grocery store and told him he looked ridiculous.
"I think it's kind of cute," a young African-American girl said as she pushed her cart past the two combatants.
His new mattress was firm. Shirley had insisted on a soft mattress and over time, Harold had developed a crick in his back from the soft mattress. Since investing in this mattress, he had lost his crick. He even noticed that his legs felt better.
He also purchased a new LCD television and gaming system and sound system from Miller's Electronics and they sent two very polite, very professional young men to install everything. Harold found out he was terrible at video games, but had so much fun discovering how bad he was, he thoroughly enjoyed himself.
The only blight on Harold Melancon's happiness was the two young men that lived in the other half of the duplex.
Both were handsome young men of twenty one years of age. Jonathon Savoie was five foot eight, with dark brown hair that he wore long, usually tied back in a ponytail. He had deep brown eyes, one heavy eyebrow that went over both eyes, a strong nose, and lips that seemed to be curled in a perpetual sneer.
Richard Arnaud had light brown hair, was also five foot eight, but was rather slender, almost feminine in his features.
His first Friday night in the duplex, Harold was jolted awake at ten thirty by heavy booming music blaring from next door. Their doors were right next to each other so Harold leaned out of his front door and hammered on their front door.
But their music was so loud that they did not hear him.
"TAB Properties," than answering service intoned.
"Hear that? Hear that? Man, how I'm supposed sleep that going on right there?" Harold yelled into his brand new IPhone.
For that, one of the boys placed a burning bag of excrement on Harold's door stoop and knocked.
Harold opened the door, saw the burning bag and simply poured his beer onto the bag, dousing the flame.
Early one morning, after a night of excessive drinking, Jonathon and Richard tried to open their door. Both were too drunk to get the key into the locks. Both were too drunk to notice that they were trying to get into 412B Cindy Street instead of their own unit, 412A Cindy Street.
Harold was roused by the noise of someone fumbling with his front door. Being sleepy, and irritated, he jerked his door open.
"Move, old man, got to shit," Jonathon slurred and tried to force his way into what he thought was his own unit.
