For years he had put up with it.
He used to think of it as the street from Hell. He had always regarded it as amazing that so many noisy families could end up in the one place. It really was against all odds. People were forever working on their cars; revving the engines, checking whether their horns still work. As for the dogs! He had never been able to count how many there were. At night, it only needed one to bark and one by one the rest would join in. The other night-noise was the kid that lived two doors away that practiced regularly on his set of drums.
The worst of it was the borrowing.
That seemed to be never ending. It was as though all the needy people from around the district had descended on the one street. Could they please borrow a cup of sugar, a couple of teabags, or just a drop of milk until they could get to the shop? There seemed to be a constant banging on his front door. He often wondered if they were doing it deliberately. It was as though they took some sort of tacit enjoyment from incessantly imposing on him. Was he just being paranoid? They no doubt saw him as just a grumpy old man.
Then, things changed. A whole new life opened up for him. He saw the opportunity to free himself of the cacophony, the scrounging, in fact, the whole ghastly business.
He moved into a tiny cottage at the very end of a quiet lane… behind the cemetery.
His neighbours never bothered him.
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