When I went out front of my building to put out the trash & grab my mail, there was a cop there talking to the lady from upstairs & the other tenant. Asked what was wrong, and they said that the upstairs lady's kid had "run away". Since I had just yelled at said kid on Tuesday for throwing his smoked-out butts off the upstairs balcony onto my front stoop, and he didn't look any too disgruntled at the time, I have no idea what's up with that. The other woman commented about how she never sees me but it's late at night. Yes, dear, I have a job, this means I'm not about in daylight on weekdays.
I don't know why I care, the tenants in the other part of the building come and go often enough that I never bother to learn their names.
Nice morning, much more clear than the weather-reports had led me to expect. Mountains are still that beaten red-bronze color that comes right before the greening, and with the slight morning mist, I fancied the Bald Eagles were a new-forged blade steaming from the quenching-bucket. Helped me feel warmer - I had foregone the jacket, and it was just a hair too cool on the walk up Valentine Hill. I'll be wishing for this early-morning coolness come July, mark my words.
Valentine Hill Road runs through an odd patch of land down at the base of the hill, in the little canyon that Logan Run drains. Between the hillside and the industrial strip are a bunch of nice little houses and a generous scatter of small ponds, streams, and springs in a watery tangle which manages to be neither polluted, nor stagnant, nor noxious. Quite pleasant in a noisy industrial-clanging sort of way, with a passel of white ducks in residence and all sorts of greenery. Almost English-garden in its charm.