OK, so we finally heard back from next door–actually, from the father of the neighbors.
Father Landlord looks and sounds kind of like Larry David; he’s shorter, has less hair, and a substantially smaller sense of humor. He called in a very formal way: “This is (his name) calling about the note that was left at (his sons’ address).” I was half-expecting him to threaten my 11-year old for cutting his grass. P. had picked up the phone at the same time and took over the conversation, explaining that son J. was looking to make a little extra money and had extended the offer to mow their lawn (subtext–it wasn’t getting done otherwise).
“Oh, we won’t need that for a while,” he said. “We’re going to be pulling out everything in the front yard; it’s all weeds. So maybe later when it grows back in.” Then he added, “We’re going to pour concrete over the whole back yard, so we won’t need that cut.”
Great, another Hampden concrete lawn. Instead of having a tree and a fenced grass yard next door, we’re going to have a frat-house parking lot. Of course, some of our other neighbors love the idea of a low-maintenance backyard, so it might just start a freakin’ trend.