The drunken St. Patrick's Day celebration on my neighbor's front porch didn't close up shop because it got too cold to drink whiskey outside...oh no. It carried right on through to about six in the morning, cause that's how fucking springtime rolls.
Ah, spring. How you litter the air with police sirens and cat calls. Cars seem to screech to a halt more often, domestic disputes fill the block, and dog shit takes on a whole new kind of stench. Sidewalk conversations have turned from hurried, icy mumbles into loud, leisurely strolls, and understanding nods have become "Thanks for holding the door, asshole."