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The Neighbourhood


When I got up this morning, the first thing I did was open the blinds.
Outside the window, just beyond of our balcony, soap bubbles drifting by.

On the street below a poet stood on the curb. He took a last, tender drag on his cigarette and then threw it into the street, as if disgusted with the habit he was right that very second quitting. He paused for just a minute, and then walked into a convenience store and bought a new package, which he unwrapped immediately.

At the corner, in the light, drizzling rain, a man was having an animated conversation with a crossing guard, “ Oh, it’s not like I’m without fault, but she was making a point of pushing my buttons!”

In the middle of the sidewalk, a little dog squats and goes to the bathroom. As the owner bends down to pick it up, a stranger tries to pet the dog. Startled, the animal snarls and barks, and the stranger recoils, an awkward and apologetic grin on his face. From across the street, a woman with crazy eyes begins to yell, in a kind of musical tone, “ he’s going to bite, he’s going to bite, he’s going to bite ya’ hard!!!”
Standing between two parked cars on, I have my hand out trying to hail a cab.

A cyclist rides toward me, and seeing my outstretched hand, gives me a high five, before wordlessly sailing by, soap bubbles trailing him like phosphorescence.

Michael Murray updates his Blog daily at