writing doodle - as yet untitled - no idea where it belongs

I might have more ex-wives than most of my friends, three and a half, but who's counting?  The half, well, she's always been a little tough to explain.  That said, I've actually maintained civil relationships with them.  Just because we weren't destined to remain married doesn't mean we shouldn't be friendly; I don't extend that to babysitting the kids they've had in subsequent relationships.  There's only so kind I want to be.

When Cassandra and I were married, I put her through yoga school, massage school, and finally real estate school and helped her start her business.  A lot of house painting and carpet cleaning were part of helping her help her clients sell or rent their homes.  Not seeing her on weekends or most evenings just kind of went with the territory, the nature of the beast, you know?  But there are only so many open houses and private showings at eleven o'clock at night I was willing to accept as 'normal' because guy got off after the swing shift.  Not only did he finish work, he and Cassandra got off and did some swinging of their own.

All of that said, she always found great deals on houses and apartments in good neighborhoods.  So when Big Red and I had to move, Cassandra was a no brainer.  Besides, she was single again and I was sure we could work out her commission in my favor.

All of the high end condos either wanted incredibly high deposits because of Big Red or they turned me down completely.  There were some great bungalows, but they had no yard to speak of and were nowhere near a dog park.

"This is it?  Really?" I asked.  Even though I'd been committed to either an apartment or a condo, this was so much better.  I loved the house.  It was two stories, clapboard, very traditional, colonial feeling almost.  The neighborhood was a little dicey but it was in one of those historic neighborhoods where most of the houses were in some phase or another of renovation.

"The answer is yes and no," Cassandra said.  She took the keys out of the ignition and undid her seatbelt.  "There's a guesthouse in the back.  That's what is for rent."

I couldn't get out of the car fast enough.  If the house in the back was anything like this, Red and I found our new home.  She would have the safety of a fenced yard, a quiet street and we would be walking distance from a dog park.  Red wouldn't have to sleep on top of the laundry basket or on top of me; this was going to be fabulous.  Studio apartments are lovely things, but I lived in one for far too long.  When you can do everything except use the can from your bed, your living space is just too small.

"I want it."  There was no doubt in my mind.  Absolutely none.  I knew what I wanted and this was it. Freedom, space, and potentially even enough parking to buy an old KLR650 from Manny.  I'd done most of the work on it and it was a beater, but I resented leaving it at his place since my old complex didn't have sufficient parking.

"You don't know the price and I can't let you sign a lease until you've at least seen inside."

I flew up the sidewalk, up the stairs to the front porch of the main house, and peered through the window next to the front door.  I might have seen more if the curtain hadn't been closed.

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