The little building, only four dwellings high, five wide, with iridescent numbers affixed to the locked doors are like many of the neighborhoods across the globe.
It’s a tiny community filled with gossip, local irrelevant interests, and occasionally celebratory greetings. Sometimes, there’s a note of encouragement that passes through one of the doors. Other times, discouraging and even sometimes devasting news. And every rare once in a while, an unexpected windfall. Laughter and tears, smiles and frowns, can share the cramped spaces at any given time.
Those of every color, every language, every opinion, friends and foes alike, have probably found themselves there temporarily at one time or another. The future awaits more of the same for this unassuming, unpretentious, overlooked little village that welcomes all who enter without giving it a thought. It’s withstood storm and abuse alike, and it’s still standing strong. I’m heading there now, key in hand. My mailbox is the one on the top left.