Living in the land of concrete, I am constantly surrounded by sound. From law enforcement to ambulance and fire brigade, to aircraft overhead, and the neighbor's verbal disagreements or the echoes of heels at a brisk pace hitting the pavement en route to a car, the vagaries of existence here rarely escape notice when one is home.
These flats, built in the early seventies,have largely retained their drafty, single-paned windows, allowing not only cold and heat, but too much noise inside.
Initially enveloped in thickets and tall trees which have long since disappeared with the rise in population, this collection is now right off a multi-laned roadway, shielded only by a thin line of trees and a fence.
There are four flats per building in what is commonly referred to here as a walk up. This means that I am also privy to comings and goings on the outside stairs and the street beyond my front door.
Imagine my surprise then when I hear two male voices, late afternoon:
"You must be daft..." (Daft not being an American expression, my ears perk up)
"We can't take this..."
I glance out the front window to see if someone is moving either in or out and then notice a neighbor watching, cell in hand. No U-Haul or company van, no truck and no apparent car...
Just two youngish-looking caucasian men who notice they've been seen and rapidly exit the north entrance.
Sadly, this isn't the first time intruders have come here. I'm just glad someone was watching...
Makes me a bit glad I've not yet put in new windows, too.
Until Next Time...
