I always tried to talk our neighbors, no matter where we lived. I was met with side glances, faces pretending they had not heard my hello, or just a blank stare as if I was a ghost in the hallway with a bag of groceries digging in his pockets for the house keys. They shuffled through common spaces and stairwells in rough old robes, smoking cigarettes by windows painted shut, tapping ashes into empty cans of peas, a confetti of gray and soot painted around them.
the neighbors
the neighbors
the neighbors
I always tried to talk our neighbors, no matter where we lived. I was met with side glances, faces pretending they had not heard my hello, or just a blank stare as if I was a ghost in the hallway with a bag of groceries digging in his pockets for the house keys. They shuffled through common spaces and stairwells in rough old robes, smoking cigarettes by windows painted shut, tapping ashes into empty cans of peas, a confetti of gray and soot painted around them.