Wednesday, September 12, 2007

An Ode to My Neighbourhood

Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Chockablock full of crazies, and hipsters and underaged kids soliciting for cigarettes and booze; with high end shoppes and ye olde pubbes and three gelato serveries, my neighbourhood is a special place.

A place where the air smells like cupcakes on my morning walk to work, but by five they're frying fish and chips. I know where the cupcakes live, but the halibut is a mysterious scent. Doesn't matter- my house smells like cheap vanilla candles.

No matter the weather, there will always be someone parading about in a halter top and miniskirt, or on the flip, a pair of skinny skinny jeans, a leather jacket and a ski touque.

The houses around mine are built to look old, but they finished construction three weeks ago. My safe little street, stripped of a Christian name and numbered like the others around it is closed on one end to protect the innocents. I'm okay with that.

When I'm an septuagenarian, I'm spending my days in fiendish wigs and bejewelled sunglasses, drinking espresso con panna and eating artisan cheeses on the street.

I never want to leave.