Pensive on the Porch

Today isn't going to be my favorite day. I got a rough start on my Monday, missed the single most favorite day at the gym, and overall wasn't very pleased with how I felt today.

Life in big city is so peaceful to me. I live in a college neighborhood, which isn't nearly as obnoxious as it sounds. A few perks of living in this area is that I don't have crying babies in my building, live beneath children that run around at all hours, and no one owns dogs that bark incessantly.

I have a back porch. Some would call it a fire escape, although there is no place to escape to, except another bedroom in my apartment, or another apartment all together. Let us call it the back terrace. So classy, so chic.

When I first moved to Boston, there was a time I was without employment unexpectedly, and the back terrace was a place I spent a lot of time sitting, looking up at the stars, trying to understand where my life was going.

Now, I find I don't spend enough time out there. In NYC, these unique additions to apartments are quite popular, and are a part of the culture in some neighborhoods, more so than Boston.

Tonight as I sat out there, it was almost a calmer tribute to Hitchcock's Rear Window, a splendid movie, starring Christopher Reeve many years later. The university owns the building parallel to my terrace, and I watched a man sweeping all of the empty apartments at 11 PM before the students move in.

One woman also apparently has moved in already, and was spending some time in the kitchen with a T-shirt just barely grazing her hip bone, but unfortunately forgot to wear her britches. Just looked up the singular word "britch," on the internet, and it is defined as the buttocks of an animal. So basically tonight my view was tainted by Britch in the Kitch, not as popular as the best-selling Skinny Bitch in the Kitch, probably the best selling vegan cookbook out there.

Regardless of my burning corneas, it is always calming to be out there. I hear the faint hum of various HVAC and A/C units powering up all the buildings. I rarely hear horns or sirens; only the occasional young adults strolling through the back alley.

But I love my city, my apartment, and I'm such a gracious, proud taxpayer to the city.

The view to the left