[daily write] in my neighbourhood.
In my neighbourhood, I can hear the ice cream truck playing a little tune as it circles the block, excited children spilling into the street clutching dollar bills and change in their hands. Their high-pitched laughter tinkles in the air, as the sun beats down on the hot, dry, California streets. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and everything is right in their worlds for at least 5 minutes while they happily eat their sweet treats, the ice cream dripping down their chins and hands.
In my neighbourhood, I can walk to a homeless shelter that feeds hungry mouths every morning. The people line up, wrapping around the block. There are men and women, young children and babies, all there to satisfy a gnawing hunger in their bellies. I drive past them in the mornings as they wait for the doors to open, children tugging at their shirts, babies sleeping quietly in their second-hand carriages. The sound of chatter fills the air as I slowly roll to a stop at the stop sign and then dies away as I leave them behind, the engine chugging along down the street.
In my neighbourhood, I can walk down the street and marvel at all the expensive new condos that appear. It seems that every empty lot is just waiting to become a new set of townhouses, spilling over with families that own shiny cars and keep plants on the doorstep. Their welcome mats beckon you to enter, and sometimes you can catch a glimpse of the modern furniture filling the living areas inside. Every place looks the same, and I pass an entire block filled with them before changing to another block with a slightly different building style.
In my neighbourhood, I feel special and diverse and wonderful. I can see all kinds of people, all kinds of shops, and find all kinds of interesting things to do. I may not be that child slurping an ice cream cone in the blazing sun, a homeless person waiting for a hot meal, or someone who lives in a fancy condo, but I live here too. We all live here together in our neighbourhood.