Arthur waited a moment longer, then nodded stiffly and walked back to his house. The sting was small but real. Neighbors once traded bread, recipes, the warmth of introductions. These ones hadn’t even bothered with words.
He told himself it didn’t matter. Some people weren’t neighborly. He had his roses, his pool, his fishing. It was enough. The next morning, Arthur set off early for the river. The hours passed easily, line swaying, tea cooling in the thermos.