As I pull into my driveway after work, the first person I see is my neighbor, Landon Rossiter. I don’t even know where to begin to describe this pretentious nitwit. Actually, that’s pretty good. Go to any online thesaurus and search for “pompous”. Landon’s a single, kid-less guy in his early fifties, who inherited tons of money from one of his grandfathers. He hasn’t worked in eight years, has a pool in his backyard, and has parties almost every weekend. I’ve never been to one of his parties. If I’d known him before I moved into the neighborhood, I’d be living on another street.

At any rate, Landon is a guy who exudes pretentiousness. And here he is watering his shrubs in his flip-flops, yellow short shorts, and bright-pink golf shirt. The worst part of his attire is the flipped-up collar on his shirt. And mirrored sunglasses…seriously? God, what a bonehead.

My car can’t go fast enough up my driveway. If only I had an underground parking garage, I’d never have to listen to him. I have a love-hate relationship with everything in general, but Rossiter is definitely on the hate-hate side.