There were no screens on the long windows in the old houses on Third Street, and mostly no curtains either, but only wavy panes of old glass, or new thinner glass where any wavy panes had been cracked or broken. As the weather got warmer, the windows stayed open, even in the backs of the houses by the fire escapes, like no one believed anyone would ever want to climb inside to do them harm.
The houses were all the same, lined up one side and down the other on the street; and if you stood out in the front yard just right and looked down the sidewalk and squinted your eyes, they looked like they ran on forever, one after the other in an unbroken long line; and standing in the center of them all, you could make yourself feel a good dizziness, imagining you'd been painted into a picture on perspective.
The houses had rounded corner parapet rooms on the right hand sides up their three stories; and the houses were built of thick red brick with a solid, standing-forever look to them. They’d had a strength, a staunch standoff grandeur to them a long time ago, but that was long gone. You felt the distant pulse of the place if you lived there, because you felt it missing.
Now the houses had been sliced and diced inside; reconfigured into small apartments of one room or two; tall-ceilinged warrens to hide away in, rented to students and bartenders and waitresses and to other people nobody seemed to know about.
You could see into people’s lives at night from the sidewalks out front, if they had their lights on and they walked near their windows.
The floors were stripped to bare wood...
Hmm? Not this one either?
Well, no worries, Mister McWilliams. We're a large firm, I'm sure something in our listings will suit you. Ah, here's a condo on Langdon. Ahem...
The stark whiteness of the post modern building stood out against the blue sky like a splat of seagull poop floating on a serene ocean--
Hey! Where're you going!?
Opening: Robin S......Continuation: Sarah from Hawthorne