it’s not like I live in a castle, with its secret passages and evil sorcerers in their towers and bubbling potions. I live in suburbia, a normal little town with a lively crime rate but not really a dangerous area. I mean I feel safe enough with my pepper spray and my nose stuck in a book . jaywalking is as dangerous as I get.
I live on a corner and find that my front porch is almost high theater or low depending on the day. Shakespeare would be proud and maybe find inspiration.
There is a duck that visits the cat ladies brood on Thursday for aerobics. Its like clockwork but I still laugh. the saddest ice cream truck guilts me into an almost daily splurge, the single note of the gong announcing its arrival reminds me of a sailor lost at sea. The buoy tolls for you!! now buy some ice cream or I’ll cry!!
my next door neighbor is the most astute gentleman in public and I imagine he works as an accountant with his freshly pressed suits but I always giggle when I remember how he sings soprano in the morning. Beached whale an operetta every weekday morning, or at least that is what it sounds like.
He would be so embarrassed and so would I if I told him that his secret life isn’t.
I almost can imagine what the southern belles watched on their porches and think they would laugh at the gossip I hold back from sharing.