The street we live on is only a 100 metre long dead end street, but the flurry of activity seems to be ongoing. Across from us is the tile shop. In the mornings, and generally more early than I would like, trucks stop by to pick up their shipments. I am always amazed at how these large vehicles manage to manoeuvre their way into and then back out of such a stubby road.
Not long after the deliveries have been dealt with, the sandwich delivery gal shows up tooting her horn loudly several times as she backs up her truck outside the main entrance. I see her laughing and chatting with the guys and I wonder if she is single and if she has a crush on the bald guy that I see carrying orders out to customers’ cars. Not sure what they order, but she rides away with a smile and I think she seems happy with her work.
Couples stop to embrace; boys scoot by on their bikes and skateboards, and an elderly man with a cane and his shopping basket all pass by our kitchen window. A girl crying in her sock feet, maybe she had a fight with her boyfriend, went by and then oddly minutes later another woman whose barefoot walked by cradling her toddler who is dressed only in pyjamas. I wondered where they were going and why neither woman had shoes. Is she broke and can’t afford shoes or do her feet ache and the earth feels good against her soles?
People sit in their cars and eat the fish and chips they most likely bought at shop around the corner. I am curious if they are on the go and need to eat in a hurry or maybe they’re not in the mood for sharing their chips tonight. Cars occasionally zoom by thinking that they can move onto one of the main roads near our house and then do a “U-ey” when they realize that our street is a dead end. Sometimes a stranger parks in our spot and we have to leave a note and kindly ask them to move.
When I swing our bedroom window wide open and pop my head out, I get a terrific view of the Dartford Bridge. It always seems to be packed and traffic moves slowly over the Thames. It is quite pretty at night, though, when it is lit up. I sometimes like to rest on the large sill for a few minutes and get an entirely different view of our street; the place we now call home.
I know is it closing time at the tile shop when the bald guy yanks the large garage type delivery doors down with a clang, he chucks his cigarette butt into the empty lot, and his wife and son come to fetch him.
