The eye of the beholder

There are blossoms on the trees. And while we live in hope, there are gardeners who tell us that early blossoms mean a cold snap or two before summer.

The anatomy of the city is like the anatomy of an old(er) person. You can predict the cycles - the aches and pains are everybody’s business. I have never created a city scape. If I could find a reason to show what everyone already sees, I would make one. But it wouldn’t be a tourist poster for lost souls on the prowl. 

Sunset is a time of dishonesty. It’s the word ‘sundowners’ that eats me up. You have to picture couples clinking glasses of liquor and ice before a view, a view of the city waiting for action. All I remember is going to the chemist, with a massive toothache, at sundown and finding the staff cashing up behind a locked door. 

I begged the security for a moment and was refused entry. I walked the streets with a jaw the size of a tennis ball. People stared at me in passing thinking how glad they were that they didn’t have to deal with toothache. And at sunset. It meant a night of agony.

So I won’t paint a portrait of my funny face either. Because funny is in the eye of the beholder.