I do not live in a wealthy neighbourhood, which is why I like it. Every kind of person there is to be walks by at all times of day on their way to there from somewhere else.
Our red brick building is over eighty years old, and so it blisters and peels layers of paint in places as the seasons change.
There are middle-aged elms reaching their golden years along each street, and they rain down leaves for weeks on end each fall.
Our pavements are under constant revision.
And there is a little, old man who delivers fliers out of his homemade cart early every afternoon. He leaves it unattended on the front sidewalk where creepy neighbours can shoot pictures of it through their balcony's railing slats.