Chubster

He suddenly appears at the edge of my vision, a round, squat preteen boy with a crew cut.  He's dancing on the sidewalk, sort of doing the robot, but adding his index fingers to shoot from the hip.  There's a chance he's dancing for the amusement of the boy across the street, Jonathon, my next door neighbor, and I chuckle behind my book.  I can't see Jonathon from this side of the truck in his driveway, but when the chubby kid crosses the street, I assume he must be there and must have seen the spontaneous dancing.  Or maybe not; Chubs recrosses the street just a few shakes later.  But I don't see him until he's already back on his side of the street, hands up by his ears, shaking all ten digits in what looks like exasperation, but there's a good chance it's just more interpretive dance.  I've never seen him before; he obviously doesn't get out of his house much, whichever one that may be.  He approaches a house a couple up from mine, rings the doorbell and waits.  No answer.  He rings again, cupping his hands around his face to peer through the glass storm door.  Still nothing.  He rings again, this time opening the door to look inside.  I'm laughing now, thoroughly amused and a bit incredulous at my luck, at this free entertainment that came to me, sitting here on my front porch.  He presses the doorbell one more time and then scurries off to a corner of the porch where he can't be seen by someone coming to the door.  A woman emerges and spots him in his hiding spot.  She is about as dumpy and round in the middle as he is but taller and without the crew cut.  Narrating from my front porch, she scolds him for ringing the bell so many times and making her get up from the TV.  This is surely what happened, judging by the way he hangs his head and shuffles into the house, small enough to fit under her outstretched arm.