‘Good morning, Mrs Chamber.’
She ignores me. Always has. At first, I put it down to my unfamiliar face. After six months of meeting most mornings when I leave for work and she walks her obese Yorkie, I’m not an unfamiliar face.
She talks to other neighbours. I’ve heard her greet the bloke from upstairs – the one with the wife who left him after he’d beaten her one time too many.
No, it wasn’t that my face was unfamiliar. It’s that my face is brown. Bigoted old biddy.
Wishing my next-door neighbour a good morning, it’s an act of defiance.