"She sees the little girls in the yard through her front window. They’re as naked as the day they were born, not far from the event itself. They dip backward and forward like pitchers, laughing, balling up their little white fists and shaking them like they’re playing craps. She moves away from the window quickly, as if their margarine skin could stretch from the yard and in through the keyhole to strangle her. A person could get in trouble for something like this, she thinks, and since she just moved here, she doesn’t need any."
From "Neighbors," originally published in PANK, http://pankmagazine.com/piece/jen-michalski/