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From the full version of Sunnyside's Lousy Book.

Did the neighbors get threatened,
or just scared?

Before going up to the door of the neighbor's house to the south mine, I noticed the younger blond neighbor lady across the street, standing in her front yard. Since the first time I met her, we had a pretty good sense of communication going on for a neighbourly relationship. I thought that a good idea would be to ask her if she had seen any activity across the street from her.
      I asked, “Hay, I was wondering if you noticed any visitors across the street today?”
      "Yeah, they just left a few minutes ago,” she said.
      “What were they driving?”
      "A yellow car."
     We can assume that the strangers at the law office were aware I was watching what was going down, because I have a hunch they changed vehicles so that I wouldn’t recognize it upon my arrival home.

Then I clued the blond neighbor gal into strange experience I'd just had earlier at the lawyer’s office.
     Although she didn't live there at the time of the fire, I'm sure she witnessed a lot of the activity going on around my place because of the fire. We had discussed the peculiar traffic at the house to the north of mine prior to that day of the visitors in the yellow car. She was aware of the strangers warring suites and ties hanging out with the low-life neighbors to the north of me. I can assume just witnessing the conspiracy taking place was a bit terrifying to her. The last time we spoke to each other she said with a very troubled and worried look on her face, "I feel sorry for you."
      When I approached neighbors next door to the south of me, I could tell they didn't want anything to do with me. I asked them if they had received a visit by the folks from the city and they denied having being confronted by anyone. I asked if they had any visitors that afternoon. They denied having any visitors at all that day, so I assumed they weren’t being honest with me.
     I informed them that the video tape of the fire they had given to me had been altered. And I told them about what I had just experienced at the lawyer's office and they acted as if they really didn’t want to hear about it. I could see the fear in their eyes, wishing that they’d never got involved with my problem. My problem had just become one of theirs by just being person who videotaped the incident. The simple act started a conspiracy and they’d found out how conspiracies function first hand.
      I told them about the fact that the neighbor across the street had informed me about the visit by the people in the yellow car just moments earlier and I asked if they had given the original tape to the strangers or anyone else prior to that day.

As I talked about my ongoing experience with the city and the drugs they had put in my drinking water. Mack appeared quite frightened and grabbed the arms of his arm chair with both hands real tight. When I asked if they had a bug planted or a tape recorder running, Mack replied with extremely big eyes, "Maybe." When I spoke of touchy incriminating subjects such as my dealing in pot, he griped the armrests and pushed himself back tight in the chair as if he was taking off in a rocket ship.
     I asked for the original copy of the video and said the reason was so I could have it enhanced. Reina said, "We have so many tapes, it will take some time to find it. It's on a compact size video tape and needs to be copied onto a full size one." I begged and pleated with then not to let the city get their hands on it. The only thing I could get out of them was that they would make another copy of it for me at a later time.
     The fact that I spoke about the touchy topics proved to me that the city had me under some kind of surveillance because following our little conversation inside their house, the word on the street as I went through the drive through at a hamburger joint was, "He spoke." This led me to believe that their house had been bugged and the strange thing about it was that it appeared that disc jockeys on the car radios where clued into my personal life. Not more than a half hour later, I found myself at a Cercal-K gas station on south Tacoma Way and I heard the familiar disc jockeys voice, cranking out the news about me again. This time I could tell just which car at the gas pumps had the station on. I walked up the fella and asked which radio station he was listening to. It was a local country station and it gave me something to check out once in a while.

The next day Reina walked over to the fence dividing our back yards to speak to me. She suggested that I should consider saying I had been suffering from sleep depredation. She described other people she had known who stayed up for days on cocaine and began to hallucinate and thought that the cops were watching them. She seemed frightened and acted as if she didn't want our meeting to be known.

In a few days I went back over with a new blank compact tape to see if they would exchange it for the original fire tape. Mack wouldn't let me inside the house any further than their en-closed front porch. While he worked out on a stationary bike, he said they still hadn't found the original tape.
     On the front porch that day, he was a little more at ease in taking about the corruption in the local government. He spoke of a current incident where in his opinion a good cop got setup by bad cops. They had the cop participate in a botched raid on a house owned by the mother of another cop. The raid was an effort to bust the cop's brother whom was dealing pot. Too bad a cop ended up dead over a little pot if you ask me.
     It was better that Reina and Mack didn't give the original tape to me. That is if they understood how important it was to hide it. I hope they have made several copies of it too. Still to this day I haven't seen the other copy they promised me and I wonder if they still have the original copy. I sure hope they didn't hand it over to the crooks or leave it lying around so the crooks could steal it.
     It doesn't surprise me that both households -- Mack and Reina and the young couple with kids across the street from them have moved out of the neighborhood since then. I'm confident a few of the neighbors gave them the creeps. I have to wonder if the city harassed them at all and if it had something to do with the reason why they moved. I'm sure the Reina and Mack got quite a scare out of the ordeal.
     Curiosity got me to tune into the country station on my clock radio and I’d occasionally listen to it before I’d drag my ass out of bed some mornings. Sure enough, the morning disk jockeys had a spoof going on base on me, but referring to me as T-Man. I would like to be able to I was imagining it all and mark it down as disillusions because of sleep deprivations – but – it was just too personal. No doubt the disk jockeys had to have been informed by someone who knew quit a bit about me. When they made cracks about T-man who was going up the river had been financing his drug operation on his credit cards, it made me think about the times I sensed that the bank tellers knew what I was picking up the $1,100.00 for all the time. One would have to admit that financing a stash of weed on a credit card would be an easy guess, but when they did a bit played off of a reggae tune and mentioned that the guitar player had lousy rhythm traits, it was obvious they knew Rodney’s lack of talent and were making fun of it.
     You might say I was just jumping to conclusions, but think about how I felt when I arrived at the place where I painted tanks and a guy in the office addressed me by the name of "T-man."

Sure he could have meant “Tankman,” but I don't think so, because that was the only time in several years anyone at the company addressed me by the name. I myself as well as others there referred to me as, "Dennis the Painter." Even the experience around the mechanic shop there was quite appalling. A few of the mechanics thought the rumors going around were in their favor. As they were laughing about me, one mechanic gave me the beating the meat signal. I'm sure they were miss lead to think they would be better off if I was cheated out of the patents I'm entitled to and I'm sure they think differently now after a few years have gone by and they've found out I'm still the only one driving it and they are not.
      Soon after following the ordeal with the T-man bit on the radio, I wrote about it in the second part of the book I had begun to write. I even gave it the file name, T-man. I wasn't surprised when another radio station came up with a nick name for a disk jockey under the name of T-man. I'm sure it was an effort to cover up their game because I was onto what they were doing and writing about.
      Maybe I’m wrong and maybe it was sleep deprivation and my imagination running wild, but I think not. I'm sure it was no coincidence. Think about it. The reggae bit, the drug dealer running his business on a credit card, the inventor trying to get rich off a brilliant idea and the Truck-man name I picked up while in jail. Yeah, crazy you say? Not.

The next chapter of Sunnyside's Lousy Book is:

So you make mountains out of a mole hills?

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