We just moved to Corinthian Avenue, named for the building at the top of the street with eight huge corinthian columns holding up its cornice. The street is only a couple of blocks long, and it’s all residential except for the coin laundry on the corner of Parrish. It’s a big change from our last apartment, where you could look out the window at any time and find some kind of activity – cars and taxis speeding by, drunks ambling along at 2 AM, schoolchildren and community college students a couple of hours later. On one of the first nights at our new place, I woke up around three o’clock and looked out the front window; there was no movement, not a person in sight. I’m glad we live in a more residential district now, but I do miss the possibility of being entertained just by sticking my head out the window. You know, no one ever looked up at me. I was only on the second floor, maybe ten feet above the heads of the people walking around below, and no one ever looked up. Unless they were the prostitutes living on the third floor of my building and they were yelling up at their kids to come and unlock the door for them and their johns. Now I have to look out my back windows, at nighttime, and I can see people’s television sets or people chatting at their kitchen tables. Now I have to become a voyeur for my late-night entertainment.

There are still schoolkids in the morning, though. There are a couple of schools – Girard College just north of us (that’s where the corinthian columns are), but that’s a boarding school, and another school a few blocks west. A crossing guard sits in her SUV each morning, talking on her cell phone and trying to keep warm until another group of children comes to cross the quiet street.

Oh, I started this this morning with the intention of writing something today, for once. Now it’s 4:47 and snowing fit to beat the band, and the grumpiness of my drive home has already started to set in. So I guess I’ll cut it short and pack it up.

I have to do my taxes and drink wine tonight.