I live in an “accessory dwelling unit” crammed into a backyard situated in the middle of everybody’s personal shit. There’s a stern matriarch to my left, living with her adult offspring and pets. Surrounded by hardy women, the only son is desperate for guy time. This 55-year-old lumbering carpenter’s attempts to befriend me were as fruitful as mounting a stranger in a bar. He asked if he could live in my garage — I imagined him jerking off in my studio space. No thank you…