I know a lot about the girl next door. I know her favorite artist is Owl City; she's been blasting it ever since she was nine. I know the perfume she wears; it always drifts out of her window. I know what she wears; I've seen it hanging on a clothesline, flapping around in the breeze. But there's still much I don't know. Recently I heard her arguing with her parents, something about her going out every night. She didn't seem like one to do that. She always woke up early every morning to take a jog and walk her dog. And now she's gone. I'm going to find her.
