I sat in my study worshipping the god of hot coffee when the street below me exploded in a shrill barrage of verbal abuse. I looked out my window and saw my neghbor, Joanna Kowalski, screaming at a ragged looking kid.

The kid was no more than ten, but exhibited the vocabulary of a seasoned sailor.

After about fifteen minutes of the obscene diatribe I stuck my head out the window and joined the chorus.

"Shuddup!" I yelled.

The kid flashed me a one finger response. Joanna took the opportunity to slam her knotty 70 year old fist upside the boy's left ear. The kid howled. Joanna cackled. I suppressed a malicious smile. I saw Joanna draw back her fist again and the kid took off down the street.

I pulled my head back into my study.

"Wonder what that was all about?" I asked nobody in particular, but I wish to God I could get rid of that lousy habit. It was like casting a curse on myself, because what happened next embroiled me in the kind of trouble I prefer to get paid for.

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