Man and woman talking in the courtyard. The occasional sound of sustained laughter. From her more than him.
The words: "worried about it" spoken by the man in the courtyard.
Workers hammering in a vacant apartment on the 2nd floor.
In an effort to get a glimpse of the people talking in the courtyard, I bump my head on the window frame.
Wispy, high clouds coming in from the south over Brooklyn.
A real and consistent itching sensation on my left outer thigh. I reach inside my pants while standing up after failing to satisfy the itch over my pants.
I suddenly realize there is a man in the adjacent building looking across the courtyard at me from his window as I itch my leg with my hand down my pants. Worry for a moment about what he might think I'm doing. I lose interest in this line of thought as soon as he disappears from the window.
The sound of a staple gun that echoes through the courtyard.
Text from Tara who asks how I'm doing.
I text back that I'm doing fine, just writing.