Bucharest in the Morning

People are out before dawn. The street cleaners come in their neon uniforms. Some of them have homemade brooms made of twigs. I suppose those are tougher than straw brooms. Better at sweeping pavement. I am glad they haven't discovered leaf blowers. I hate leaf blowers.

The people who are out before dawn don't look very happy, except for the school children. They haven't learned better yet. They still get to play football and video games at the end of the day. They chatter to each other as they go past. The girls lean into each other and howl with laughter. The boys strut.

At a construction site near my apartment, a bored security guard watches the people pass. I wonder what he is thinking. Probably that he wishes it wasn't so cold out, that he didn't have to work such a long day. If I go back out this afternoon, he will still be there. I have seen him many times before.

There is the old man with the cheerful Irish setter. They walk together a lot, the dog trotting wide circles around him, careful not to go into the street until the man does. The dog always looks as though he is smiling. Sometimes the man takes the dog into the corner bar. There are tiny little corner bars everywhere. Only old men go. I would go if I thought I could strike up a conversation. Old men talk about all sorts of things after a beer or two.

Another man comes out of one of the tiny grocery stores with a steaming cup of coffee, which he takes across the alleyway into the dog park, where he has left his St. Bernard mix. A lot of people use that dog park. The dog is glad to see him. The man sits on the bench and drinks his coffee.

Now it is 8 a.m. and the neighbor on the other side of the wall is cutting concrete with a power saw, by the sounds of it. He has been doing this for two weeks now. I think I hate him.