I pass slowly along the extreme side of the road staring hungrily at the house. Then I loop around the block and do it again. Some days I repeat this as many as four times. Sometimes to be discreet, I’ll split it up into two separate visits.
No, not Dave Chappelle’s house--him I’ve gotten used to seeing outside the coffee shop all day and all evening as he hangs with the other townies like a charming porrukki.
It’s the house itself I’m stalking. It won’t be ours until Aug 1. And clearly, I have trouble waiting.