Our Favorite Bones

I think our neighbor deserves a mention. There are three units in our building: two on the bottom (one of which we occupy) and one on the top. The top neighbor is a thirty something lady who works for the Census Bureau and allegedly has a fifteen year old daughter whom I have never seen. The bottom neighbor is a single guy named Charlie. He's thirty three, an electrician with a dog named Gaz who he takes to work with him every day. A really strange guy. Apparently by the time he finished sixth grade he had already completed the math credits he needed for both high school and college. He also has "Ohm's Law" tattooed on his forearm, along with a host of other more regrettable choices. But he is possibly the most inarticulate person ever. He wanders over and chats us up almost every night, about things like angels and how there aren't any good people in the world so you can only trust dogs. So far he has offered us: beer, See's candy, two kinds of weed (and a bong to use it with), and the loan of this, this, this, and this. You have to guess as to which offers we took him up on.