the neighborhood

 a perfectly coiffed woman reminds me of my grandmother's neighbor. she has large glasses and matching sweater sets and a louis vuitton purse hangs over her arm. each store has a single purpose and the owner works behind the counter. they joke with customers like lifelong friends. if what you want is not there, they say "come back tomorrow, i will have it for you then." the middle age stroll arm-in-arm with the elderly. no one passes a child without a display of delight. days proceed and the television grows dusty, unused. dinner is eaten together. we sit on the balcony, drink coffee and wine. we people watch and hear tales of a new Russian friend met during recess. we know all the dogs. i try in vain to spot geckos darting into underbrush at the sound of my footsteps.