I sat outside on my corner, in my neighborhood this morning, and had coffee with my friends. I think it is rare, to have an actual neighborhood and not one of those contrived stripmall-centered suburban bedroom communities. My street is tree-lined and old, with great old victorians, some nice arts-and-crafts places, and the occasional mental health supported housing unit. Three houses in a row are rentals, gone to college kids now, with yards much worse than Roy's (no url, sorry) and open trash cans brimming with refuse. They do not keep up with the rest of us. The center place of the three is now for sale. Walking by this afternoon on the way down to Clinton Street Video to return Apocalypto, a party was in full swing on Porch #3 and a real estate agent was on Porch #2 waiting for her mark to show up. You could watch the price drop as the would-be buyers arrived. Animal House, Portland style. Meet the neighbors: big beer and body art at 3:30 in the afternoon, clothing optional. Whoopee.
It is father's day. I have no father and am not one. Nothing to celebrate here.
6 comments:
the flavor of your neighborhood, so right there when you write about it.
I will put those three houses on my list of places with worse lawns than mine.
How much for the house? Maybe I'll buy it and turn it into a relatively gardeny spot.
Can we do coffee,say, next Sunday?
msb: seriously? Of course. It would be great to see you.
roy: 349K. I'll post a picture.
Maybe more like Tuesday as I am in Santa Barbara for a few days.
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