There was an old woman of Smedley

For the first time ever, I have a Crazy Neighbor. Her name is Josephine and she lives across the alley. Her makeup looks like it was put on by a blind five-year-old with crayons. She has an undetermined number of formerly stray dogs living with her. If she sees you, she will tell you about the dogs' dietary habits, health problems, etc. Then she will tell you about the rude crackheads who live next door (whom I have never seen and whose existence I doubt). Then, if you're lucky, she will tell you about her plants.

The plant-house ratio of Josephine's lot is about 4:3. Our landlord, Mitch, who likes to upsell, told us she's a "world-class horticulturalist." The other day she stopped me and, gesturing to an overgrown monstrosity with sad, droopy, trumpet-shaped bulbs, said, "Have you smelled my plant at night?" I told her that I hadn't. "It smells wonderful! It has a narcotic quality! It almost put the security guard at the crack house to sleep!" Then she laughed her nutty little head off.

Look! Doesn't this look like the house of a crazy person? It's like Grey Gardens over there, but without any famous relatives to add integrity.