"Linda? Linda? Liiiinda?"

Linda pulled her bifocals down just enough to pinch the bridge of her nose. She knew that warbling, tittering call. It was her neighbor, Mrs. Briggleham. Judging by the strength of the call and the movement of its tone as it closed in, Linda surmised that the old woman was approaching from the front door.

"Linda, dear, are you in?" Three knocks on the old wood, "Linda?"

"In the kitchen!"

There was a huff, and a shamble, and the sound not unlike a distant bellows working a furnace, then Mrs. Briggleham waddled in the back door. She squeezed through, panting and holding a hand to her chest. It was exactly sixty-one steps from her house to Linda's. The journey winded her each time.

"I have news!" The old woman trumpeted.

For all her feelings about her neighbor, Linda appreciated the visits. Nothing ever happened anymore. Nothing except more doctors and more medications. The kids didn't call, the husband was dead, and she was allergic to everything but the cleanest of goldfish. Life had petered out for her.

She closed her crossword, "Grab us a drink then tell us all about it."

Mrs. Briggleham nodded and waddled over to the cabinet. She knew where to find the bottle, the cups, and the corkscrew. She thumped them down on the red, plastic tablecloth, then collapsed into the chair opposite Linda.

"It's about Old Frank Curman."

Linda pulled a face, "Then I doubt I want to hear it."

"No, no, my girl. Listen, listen." Mrs. Briggleham performed the cork-popping ritual with practiced ease, "You remember how he sent all them angry letters to the nice couple down the lane? All because they had one of those yippy dogs?"

"Of course I remember." Linda took the bottle and poured for both of them, "Frank Curman is a bitter, nasty, stupid old bully. He was after me last year over my sunflowers. Kept screamin' about how they were 'too tall' and 'unsightly.' What sense is there in that? Flowers being unsightly? They're flowers, fer christsake! Ridiculous."

Mrs. Briggleham smiled over her cup, sipped and said, "Oh, and don't forget the whole affair with the parked car. You remember? The- Oh, what was their name? Family with the beanpole teens?"

"The Hadleys."

"Right, right. The one son saved for months to buy that car, then has the misfortune of parking it in front of Frank's house. Old turtle had the thing towed! No warning!"

"Heard the impound fine cost more than then the whole car," Linda said.

"Bastard."

They drank.

"Right bastard." Linda nodded, trying to remember where the conversation had started from, "You said you had news?"

"Oh, yes. I did. Frank passed last Sunday: heart attack."

"Well!" Linda stared down at her glass, shook her head and announced, "I think that deserves a better bottle! Fetch the champagne, dear. I'll break out the good crystal."