The doorbell rang unexpectedly. “Could you?” Amy said.

“Must I?” Ben asked. The doorbell rang again, longer this time.

“One of us should.”

“Fine,” he set the remote aside and heaved himself off of the couch. He opened the front door and stared at a man in a T-shirt that had a hand giving the middle finger on it. Ben tensed in anticipation.

“Hi, I’m Tom. I just moved in to the duplex across the street. I’m here to tell you that I am an Asshole officially registered with the state. I’m required to let you know that I won’t shovel my walk all winter, I’ll host loud late-night parties that you won’t be invited to -”

“Honey?” Amy walked up behind Ben. “Who is it?”

“Well, hello.” Tom’s eyes focused on her breasts.

“Fuck. An Asshole?”

“I am legally registered with the state and required -.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Amy stopped him. “You’re the fifth one this month. We’ve met our quota.” She slammed the door shut. “Find another neighborhood!”

“Can I have your number?” Tom called from the other side of the door.