A Short Walk

A Short Walk

              I took a break from writing and walked to what we call “the corner,” which is a half block south of our house, and back. I saw a woman walking her dog, then another woman walking her dog, on opposite sides of the street. Were they keeping their dogs apart? Responsibly keeping their potentially covid-laden breath-particles apart? Had they even noticed each other?

              I looked in the window of the new restaurant at the corner, Hippin’ Hops Brewery, and saw several full plastic Kroger bags on a dining table. Is that where they get some of their food? I buy food from Kroger, too, and I don’t charge anything to eat in my house. I noted that their large round metal brew kettles in which they craft beer are very clean and shiny, so scientific looking. The restaurant’s dining room and bar area is small but inviting. Outside, on the elevated, railed, sidewalk, are a row of picnic tables in a space that, pre-pandemic, would have been too narrow for them. But the building was designed and constructed before covid, when that walkway would have been mostly for walking. There is barely room for waiters to ease between the tables and the rail. Yet, now that for two years eating outside is safer than inside and enclosed proximity can be virulent, diners cheerfully shift forward a tad to let a waiter walk by.

              On the stroll back, I checked our Little Free Library (one of the first in Atlanta, which earned our front yard coverage on CNN). Three of the six DVD movies I had placed in there remained. How many passersby are old enough to take a DVD home? I recently re-watched “The Sopranos” from start (when Tony was somewhat slim) to finish (when he may or may not have been whacked), and that show was made when DVDs were a hot new thing, so much so that gangsters would kill three people for a truckful of DVD players. Now, DVD players are donated to thrift stores, who discard many of them after they sit unsold.

              My most recent “Sports Illustrated” was still in there on the bottom shelf. It featured an introduction to the 2022 Winter Olympics. I guess I will place it in the recycling bin soon, as no passersby seem interested.

              As I walked to my front door, I saw daffodils blooming—in February. Tulips were about an inch above the ground. It was 71 degrees—in February.

              Back to work.