dear mannequins in the window: you are such a neighborhood gem. after five years, you never cease to startle me when i walk down my street and sense that i am being watched, which is then confirmed by your three creepy plastic faces in an apartment window. your outfits change each week-- i believe these are your easter dresses (judging by the egg necklaces.) once you were cindy mccain, sarah and pregnant bristol palin.

i have no idea who is responsible for you, but here is who i picture: a jame gumb-like man who dresses up in a coordinating gown, smears some lipstick over his unshaven face, and talks to you as he arranges your latest scene. maybe he is muttering something about it putting the lotion on its skin? one time i walked by, the lights were on and to my shock the entire back wall was lined with mannequin heads.