No jazz 'round here

You know, rain is deceptive. Back in Georgia, it was always sunny while it rained. The rain was softer, less concrete, more like in the movies. Disney always has a cheerful little ditty to accompany the rain. But here? A funeral dirge would be more appropriate. New Orleans style, on the way to the cemetery--not the jazz on the way back. In a place like this, there is always a rain check on the jazz.

Which is why the clanging, discordant crash of symbols brought me to my window. Looking down, I saw a garishly painted ice cream truck just cruising up to the curb. So I decided to go down and have a look, maybe get an ice cream. Of course, to counter-act the calories, I decided to trek down the stairs.

I made it to the fifth floor before my knee replacement started troubling me. So I exited the stairwell and slipped into the elevator just as a young woman headed past toward her apartment. On the end of the leash was a little dog, waddling to keep up. The woman reminded me of myself. She looked a little out-of-place in this neighborhood, a little lonely, and a little bit in need of a friend--which reminded me my 60th birthday is coming up, and I still don't have anyone to celebrate with.