Urban Intimacy

Down Arbutus, before Second, there's an apartment facing west with mid century modern lamps, and a mid century man. He sits in his corner chair, illuminated by the light, reading the paper during the evenings. I like to see him there.

On Broadway, between Fraser and Main, I saw a man as he went to the bathroom. It was 8:30, and still bright. I stepped over his stream of pee, so that I might walk all my way over to the next bus stop to allow him some tiny speck of privacy. And because I was grossed out.

I know some of my neighbours so well in some particularly intimate ways, but in most senses, I don't know them at all. I know the details of their sleep, their snoring patterns, perhaps only as well as a lover would. But I know nothing about their career goals, or whether they prefer to use butter or margarine.