Stories I hear in the alley behind my house

I went to a movie alone tonight, which I like to do from time to time. Partly because I like going to see movies and partly because I can't find anyone else to go with me to the movies I like to see. I went to see "Lord of War" starring Nicholas Cage as an arms dealer. It was a pretty good movie that reminded me a lot of "Goodfellas" with West African nations and Ian Holm, instead of the Mob and Paul Sorvino. When I got home, everything was really quiet, including the myriad buzzing insects that normally make base camp on my front step. I swatted a few tiny moths away while I groped for my keys, which conveniently go spelunking into the dark nether regions of my jeans. I unlocked the front door and instead of the usual vinyl darkness that covers my eyes, there was light flooding through my kitchen window, which only means one thing- something is happening in the alley behind my house. If something is happening behind my house it is cause for immediate celebration, because this has ranged from a hobo creating a cardboard mansion, to two teenagers fucking like there is no tomorrow in the back of a mustang convertible. Often times it's the neighborhood boys listening to hip-hop and lifting weights. Another time, at about 3 AM there were a bunch of guys standing in a circle- I swear this is true- having a "fight club" until my neighbor called the cops. Tonight I come home and two men are having a loud conversation about, well, paint I guess. That's what they started talking about. Painting metal surfaces and grinding down metallic surfaces and sucking the paint off, I don't know, it was hard to understand since I came in right in the middle of their conversation. The man in the white sweatshirt, with the squeaky southern drawl reserved for MadTV stereotypes, was patting himself on the back for a great job of grinding paint off of something. "Just about halfway through," he squeaked, "The heat from the motor started melting the paint cause of the metal surface heating up, and we had to stop and let the sumbitch cool down. But goddamn if we didn't get the whole job done in a day!" Hi partner, who I could never decipher a word or a face, mumbled a question. And this is where things took a slight downward turn. "Oh yeah," Squeaky continued, "Did I ever tell you about the time I was working at Southwest?" Mumbles responds with an affirmative, but thank god that didn't stop White Sweatshirt from telling the story anyways: "You know you're down there on the tarmac and you're looking up at this HUGE white plane going, 'mutherfucker!' Well, I was down there working the blocks and these Southwest airline pilots have their heads so far up there asses they aint payin' attention to any goddamn one of us on the ground. This plane here is goin' in to be cleaned up for the weekend and we're already behind schedule, and I'm down there waiting for the plane to stop rolling so I can get these huge wooden blocks under the wheels. The guy at the front of the plane is giving me the signal to be ready, and I'm waiting there ready with the blocks and as soon's the plane stops we get those blocks under the wheels and I start yelling to the guy up front we're good. But the guy up front is motioning to the pilots to stop right there and they feel as though they need another two goddamn feet! So they start rolling forward and I can HEAR the wood cracking on these blocks. So I grab my partner and we are just screaming at them to stop, and those idiots are up there wondering what's holding up the wheels, so I guess they give it a little more gas, and KABOOM! Those blocks shatter, giving the plane and ALL IT'S PASSENGERS a nice little jump! And I'm like, JESUS! Where'd you get these guys!" And they both laugh.