The small house would have rolled its eyes, if it had any. The constant barrage of White’s complaining and whining irritated Brick, and having heard enough of the larger house’s rants, Brick finally interrupted White’s sob story.
"Shut up!" Brick demanded, "If you don't like these huge crowds of people, then consult your owner. Don't make us all miserable."
A round of agreement came from the other houses.
White wove a low growl into his response. “Don’t interrupt me, Brick. You should learn to respect the feelings of others, especially your elders. And that goes for the rest of you, too.”
Some of Brick’s neighbors mocked White’s age superiority theory.
"Look,” Brick said. “I don't see what age has to do with it. The simple fact is that you have a problem, about which you have informed this whole block more times than we can stand, and you haven't done squat to solve it.”
“Well, if you don’t want to listen to me, Brick, then move.”
“You don’t think I’ve been wishing I could do that? I’d love to be able to relocate to some remote neighborhood where all the owners sit around and watch game shows. But I can’t. I’m stuck being adjacent to your cracked foundation.”
The other houses in the neighborhood snickered at this remark.
White responded, “I hope you burn, Brick.”
Brick couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“I see that my problems mean nothing to you, Brick, or anyone else,” White said. “Why do I even bother to…”
Brick waited a few seconds for the rant to continue, but it never did. White had never stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, especially during one of its rants. Brick began to inquire about the motives for this silence, but White uttered a single question that made Brick, and the remainder of the houses on the block, sit in perplexed silence.
“Just how the hell do houses know how to talk?"