My new neighbor is the Queen of onsies, the queen of adult onsies at least. Since she has moved in I think I have seen her once in a two piece outfit. When I first met her she was gardening in a romper and today she was wearing overalls again, yesterday a coverall. I have never seen so many one piece outfits in my life.
She rides a little red Honda motorcycle and spends her time off gardening, paining on old windows and chasing her large English bull dog around. She speaks in a low voice, and she already seems to know everyone in the neighborhood and everything about everything going on from the farmers market to the bar owners.
Showing posts with label voyeurism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label voyeurism. Show all posts
31 May 2011
22 April 2011
Roma, still
My hotel room faces inward, looking down on the small courtyard and across to buildings that are not the hotel. From my window I can just see the corner of a room in a house or apartment across the courtyard. It seems to be a library or study since the wall is covered in messy overstuffed bookshelves. In front of the books there is a desk. When evening comes someone in the house turns on the green bankers lamp on the desk and sits working. From my angle I cannot see the person in the desk. I see only a hand that holds a cigarette and the smoke that curls in front of the shadows on the wall. The hand pauses to turn the page in a book and then returns to hold the glowing stick. Who is this who sits late at night as the smoke curls into the air?
11 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde II: distraction
In which there is an unsolved mystery, a pencil shortage and a dog.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
18 January 2011
In the tea shop
I come here to work on grey days in part for the community in part for the voyeurism. The peculiar older man who is always here asks me what I am reading currently. He has started an informal book club with some of the women and another man who frequents the shop. At the table next to me a couple chats almost imperceptibly bickering. She is playing a game on her cell phone the entire time they are having tea. Their conversation in friendly, natural but suddenly rises into tension and then disperses. She wants to buy a tea cup like the one in the shop. He thinks they should use what they have rather than buying new stuff. She thinks the problem is the lack of storage. He doesn't like the new storage rack she wants to put in. She thinks his idea would be bad because of the cat. Mundane. But laced with irritability.
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