City Living

I used to live in an apartment. I liked living on the fourth floor of my building.

The fights on the street were like theater. Angry theater. Angry, modern theater.

I got to watch, but I still felt safe. I always wanted to yell something, to add my two cents. I thought they’d maybe like audience participation. I’d pick a side and see how my interjections affected the outcome.

Or I’d play impartial and try to mediate.

But now I live in a house, in a quieter (yet paradoxically more crime-ridden) neighborhood. It’s boring. (The one cat and its one poop pile represent the multitude of cats that use my front yard as their toilet. Adorable!)