De la calle enfrente

[muckefuck]

For reasons unknown (although I have my suspicions), I slept absolutely terribly last night. I woke up at seven feeling not a whit better rested than I did at two, so I called in to take the morning off. Normally, I wouldn't've been so self-indulgent, but I knew I wouldn't be able to accomplish the things I needed to do today with so little rest, so I figured a productive half-day beats the pants off a full day of uselessness. At least, that's how I'm rationalising it to myself.

That's how I came to be standing in the sun room at 11 a.m. witnessing the curious scene kitty-corner from us. Three men were on scaffolds touching up the façade of the building. One of them was a hot stocky daddy of the pale Irish type. None of that--albeit gratifying--was curious. The curious bit was four short Hispanic men clustered around a bright orange shopping cart. I saw one of them hand a pamphlet-sized piece of paper to another and then they stood around jawing.

"They've been there for hours," monshu said. He was home awaiting our new microwave, which he told me had a delivery window of 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. ("That's not a 'window'," I told him, "that's a door!") I decided to take the long way around to the shuttle stop so I could investigate, but by the time I left the house an hour later, they were gone. (Mr Miles O'Beef, however, was taking a break in the sparse shade, where I nodded a hello out of him.)

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