The apartment next to mine is owned by Bill. I picked up pretty early on that he was stealing my WIFI.
"Hey, Matt! How's everything going?" He always wants to know about me. He's stuck working at home, he cherishes the social interaction. I remember he said, "We've got thick walls, it's good. We won't hate each other that way. Thick walls make good neighbors." He gave me snappy fingers too. I can hear the TV on the other side of the wall. His dogs yap. He used to be married with a wife and kids, he told me. The white picket fence deal.
Our walls aren't thick enough. The encryption on his laptop isn't good enough. I hear the third marathon of Law and Order SVU through his walls, he's stuck in the minds of criminals too. But when I ask him how he is, he says: good. He's lying. Someone didn't bury the bodies low enough. His fence isn't deep enough. The bodies can see the roots. I found his routing number. I won't do anything with it, but someone else will. I ask Bill how he is. "Good." But I see his search history. I hope you're well, Bill.
