I blend into this neighborhood like middle class camouflage. To my neighbors, I'm just another suburban drone going through the motions. I retrieve the newspaper every morning, exchanging pleasant hellos with the usual dog walkers. I toss the unread mail and circulars straight into the bin. Keeping up appearances is everything, even if it means wasting paper. No one can suspect my letters contain no bills, no junk, nothing at all.

My neighbors remain oblivious as they putter around their tidy yards. I've logged their patterns to precision - when they leave, when they return, who steps out to check the mail. I time my own movements in the gaps, pruning roses when they’re home or crafting in the garage when they’re away. They believe I have some nine-to-five office job because that's what I told them over backyard fence small talk. The truth would shatter their perception of normalcy. To them, I'm the quiet single guy with the steady job and the a nice car. Little do they know my job is observing them. I know these families better than they know themselves, and yet I couldn't care less about their mundane little lives. My mission is not friendship. I'm here to blend in, and then fade away.