“You want to know what’s the worst thing about this ghost?” Shawn said looking at his phone.
“What?” Mike was staring at nothing across the street and thinking about also looking at his phone.
“I’m pretty sure she’s racist.” Shawn adjusted his baseball hat, and then wiped his brow of a bit of sweat. There wasn’t a cloud in the mid-afternoon, summer sky. The only thing besides the sun in that suburban blue were the contrails left by planes coming and going to Newark.
“Yeah, what an asshole. But that makes sense.”
“Huh?” Shawn didn’t look up.
“I mean, she’s a ghost, and ghosts used to be alive people. The old lady in that house was racist. That old lady dies. Racist ghost. Simple.”
“Yeah okay. But you know what the worst part is?” Shawn said looking up, blinking and adjusting to the light.
“What?” Mike shuffled his feet.
“For a ghost, it could be worse you know. Think of how big of a dick she could be, you know keeping you up by rattling thick heavy chains in the attic and turning on the TV all the time and all that.”
“You don’t have a TV.” The sprinklers in the neighbours lawn just started clacking and shooting water just next to them.
“Oh yeah,“ Shawn said, ”but you know, like you see on old movies on that. Like, a complete dick basically. I’ve heard she’s not like that.”
“Well, she is a dick because she’s racist man. She only does that whole wooo woooo shit when white kids like Ian come over.”