There’s a popular brunch space across the street from my apartment. I’ve never been. I’m well-versed at navigating the world alone, but there’s something about a sit-down place that puts up a barrier. I’ve wanted to meet friends there - Saturday mornings. I go over and put our name in and go back to the comfort of my apartment while the masses wait on the sidewalk. These are the type of scenarios I come up with on my walks around the neighborhood. I pass the park, full of dogs on and off leash. It’s not muddy today, thank goodness, but the blossoms are out. It’s a wonder how these giants of trees find buds every spring. Nature somehow makes it happen, every year.
There’s a birthday party set up under one of these trees. There are actually several smaller parties spread out now that I look closer - with streamers in the branches and gifts on the table. Aside from the park’s visitors, the neighborhood regulars take a stroll down the sidewalk and into their light-strewn side yards where friends are gathered for an its-finally-spring barbecue.
Beyond the park, I stride up the next cobblestone street. This bar has its windows open and guests spill out onto the sidewalk. The hockey game is on, with more or less the entire crowd engaged. One of the restaurants with valet service (there are two) is filling up for happy hour and beyond, with a four-piece ensemble warming up.
My last stop is the grocery store, with nurses and doctors picking up after work rations, couples picking up ingredients for hors d’oeuvre and me. A box of my favorite movie candy (for a dollar), gluten-free bread and avocados fill my reusable bag I stuffed in my pocket before my walk. The last few blocks home always seem longer (if it’s getting dark) but the always empty hair salon next door means I’m home.
My home is cozy. My aesthetic is “on point”. It’s lightly cluttered but clean, though a few dishes left I need to wash up. I settle in for the night with my phone by my side and Netflix queued. It’s nice. But I’m alone.