It actually does. Not for me, I assume. It’s somewhere up the block, and it’s probably one of those knife-sharpening people, rare these days but still to be found on occasion here in Little Portugal.
Sunday morning, cloudy. Wasps in the rose briars and butterflies in the tall grass. Neighbours strolling to the laundromat. Silence in my part of town.
My friends, it is a good day to write.