Thursday April 23, 2015
from a street sign
Joe’s biggest complaint is that there aren’t enough windows.
“It’s dark,” he repeats, fiddling with a knob on a kitchen cupboard.
Alexandra reassures him that it’s going to be fine.
“It’s such a steal,” she says, grabbing his bicep for emphasis.
They walk up to the second floor and see flashes of what could be.
“Are we ready for this?” Joe’s brows are furrowed and Alex tries not to think about how he looks like a Great Dane when he does this.
“Joe…” She kisses him and makes it last a bit longer than she might’ve, had she not been on a mission.
Out the smaller bedroom window, they watch Leanne, the real estate agent pace the driveway, talking on her cellphone.
Monday August 18, 2014
I’ve never had problems making friends. Attribute it to a good sense of humour and chattiness. Attribute it to introspective sense-of-self. I’ve noticed though, in the last handful of years, a shyness. I never had it before. I’d dive in, head-first, unafraid of all the usual things. Unafraid of judgement. This shyness, maybe it’s the Fence. The Fence came when Ken left. I know that’ll make sense to you because you’ve been there. You know the Fence. In fact, you recently stipped your own of it’s white paint, happy to let the grain show.