Footprints

The snow that coated the sidewalks yesterday remains in our backyard. On the sunny side of the street no traces remain, as if it never fell.

When I first moved to Blissville, I kept to myself, barely glancing at my neighbors. I knew no one. I thought I was invisible. But I was wrong. They noticed my comings and goings, and knew who I was, too. I just didn't know it.

Other People's Narratives

Who left the tepid coffee outside the check cashery?
Who pasted on the eight-ball?

Imaginings of Another Life

So what is it like to live here? One donut shop, one hotel, one bar, one topless dance hall, one bakery, one gas station, one laundromat and one monument to one soldier who died in World War II. Quite enough for those of us who live here.

We Are Watched

I'd never really thought there was much of value in the neighborhood, at least worthy of surveillance, until I spotted the camera. Perhaps it spotted me, too.

Selective Seeing

The Manhattan commuter observes what she is accustomed to seeing. Whizzing by on her way to work, she'll miss the slow, tiny surprises of Blissville. But is she any different than any of us, so used to seeing what we know and recognize that we fail to see the changes?

God Bless the Van Dam Deli

Some people say it's to be a hotel. Others speculate it will be an office building. And still others hope it will be apartments, even as they know they couldn't afford them. And so most have stopped paying attention to it. We've gone on with our lives. more loyal than ever to the Van Dam Deli.