Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

Twilight is quickly becoming my favorite time of day in the city. When the sky is not yet dark, and the buildings are silhouetted against it, with lights that seem to come on one at a time, lighting up the floors of the tall office buildings a little bit at a time. Even though it was quite cold today, I’m sitting in front of my open window, because apparently the radiator has a mind of its own and only has two settings—hot and cold. So, warmed by the radiant heat and cooling myself by the window, delicious smells from Hamburger Mary’s, the burger joint on the corner that features drag queen showgirls, waft up through my window, making my mouth water, especially after my lunch and dinner consisted of tuna casserole.
I slept well last night, after my scary adventure of being locked out. I snuggled into bed and listened to the night sounds outside my window. It was relatively quiet, the occasional car passing by, a couple of sirens wailing in the distance, a few people leaving talking jovially as they left the neighborhood pub. But the breeze that blew through my window is what really touched my heart. It smelled of an impending storm, mixed with Hamburger Mary’s and a little of something else; something I have yet to identify. Between the breeze and the nightly symphony of fridge and radiator, I found myself falling asleep easily and happily.
My daily walks are bringing to light the rhythm of the neighborhood. The trash trunks cruise through the alleyways emptying dumpsters before the sun rises, and I can hear the thud of newspaper being thrown on curbs and porches. One of my neighbors has a dog, and I can hear the slightest sound of whimpering as it begs its owner to take it out for a walk. I see the same old Hispanic man hanging around the back doors of the restaurants, sticking his head inside and asking for any kind of leftover food. I’m starting to see the same people walking about town. The old man who offered to help me move my things in crossed my path at the library, and the woman downstairs, sans dog, passed me on the street. There’s a well dress, older black gentleman who has twice stood outside the door to the neighboring restaurant, hocking basketball or baseball tickets to the workers inside.
Yes, I think I’m falling in love…

April 7, 2011 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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