Intrusive cucumbers

He was home!

And that's great so I don't have to leave the stupid cucumbers at the door.

A young male answered the door sitting low in regular non-motorized wheelchair. Shirtless and black shorts. A good looking young man of negroid persuasion. He was not happy. A woman is sitting in the farthermost spot in front of a television. They're watching football together. 

I told him my cucumber plant intruded into his space and he shrugged pfft, so what, he hardly goes out there anyway, the plant is way up there in the corner and he is way down there in a chair.

That rolls.

Ew, I hate those things. They're too close to home.

The guy in the wheelchair answered the door, not the woman with legs that work. Presumably. Then, maybe she's more of a mess. She is not a styled woman unless you take Buckwheat for a style. 

I feel sympathy for people in wheelchairs. The wheelchairs always bum me out. 

I was confined to one for a very long while and I can assure they are nothing to roll home about. They're not the slightest bit fun.

And you'd think they would be; all the tricks you could do. But that's not the way it works out. 

I told him it's nice to meet him. He said likewise, and that's it.