Qoordinates

Have shifted, people and places and cats (which are people...and places, now that I think about it. Fucking words) all living differently. It's been a minute, and today I explored and saw, and decided to write about it. Where I live, I mean.

We've moved from the Whiteaker neighborhood, which was a delightfully hip and shaggy place up in the center of town, to a new place and new neighborhood (Westmoreland...W) which is bourgeois and polished and sort-of unfriendly. But it's also green and lush, and comfortable. The cats are having the times of their lives, and so am I. Close to the bike path and right against the creek, which is surprisingly pretty and full of life for a man-made drainage ditch. Goes to show...

There's a heron lives nearby-I see him again I'll give him a name. There's a stand of trees down the path I've named the Hobo Copse, since it's where they congregate and a pun. There's a 24 hour convenience store, there's a grocery store. There's west 11th, if I need some pavement or ugly. There's a dishwasher and a microwave and a clean smooth oven and washer/dryer robots and venetian blinds (stupid!) and a patio. There's a tanning room, where I'll burn my flesh with radiation to be dark in the winter.

It's good. I'm good, and well, and glad. You're reading this, it's likely you should know.