Living at the apex of a multitude of Neighbourhoods with different socio-economic characteristics, brings together a myriad of interesting people. Each house, each person deserves their own chapter. These people illicit a glut of reactions as varied as they themselves are.
We live in a house that has been converted into three apartments: basement, main floor and top floor/loft. I would like to start with The Girl in the Basement.....aka MaryJane.
MaryJane sits outside in the driveway with her ganja and rap,
She chats on the phone and watches while her dog takes a crap.
Shit into full bag hanging on fence,
Her dope wards off the stench,
But not the sound of dog sat dogs - yap YAPPITY YAPPITY YAP.
Somehow, MaryJane is able to miss the garbage and green bin containers every time she throws anything away. On her dog-sitting allowance, MaryJane can only afford two clothing items: a bathrobe and bar star clothes. Despite her economic distress, she is generous, however, leaving random items (dog brushes, three legged tables, empty bread bags) in sodden boxes on the edge of the yard for people peruse. Her burly CAA tow truck driving man often visits, letting toxic fumes from his idling truck waft up to our apartment. That's when we're lucky - if we aren't home when he is over, he himself parks in our dog-shit surrounded parking spot. Although, come to think of it, at least THEN I can take out my frustration and anger on the horn! Once, we perched like cats peering out the loft window while they had a domestic in the street. It was punctuated by crushing plastic and crashing glass as he angrily drove off down the narrow ally. I'm not sure what was sadder - the domestic in the street or the fact that our frisky time screeched to a halt so that we could bear witness.
Oh MaryJane, I love to hate you.
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you write well VV
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