I headed out of my apartment to do some errands. On the list: buy envelopes, check out the bookstore, swing by the school to drop off a paper. Halfway through errand #1, I reached in my pocket to check the time on my phone. School closes at 17h, so I couldn’t drag my feet.
My pocket was empty. I had no idea what time it was.
I must have left the phone charging on the living room table. I quickly reformulated my plan. Okay, I thought, I’ll just skip the bookstore and head immediately to school by way of home. That’s better anyway, since my apartment is closer to the metro. Maybe I can still hit the bookstore on my way back. So I climbed the winding, hilly street back up to my apartment, desperately scanning the buildings for any establishment that might have a clock in their window.
I distractedly fumbled for my keys, my muscle memory carrying me past the line of identical shabby stoops straight to my door. I drew the keys out of my pocket, reached for the lock and — what ?! Am I….at the right building? I checked the number above the door. Number 4. Yep. Here’s what I was looking at:
Let me explain: I live in a neighborhood in Marseille known as the “quartier des créateurs” where the shops and restaurants are covered in murals, and every other available wall space is tagged with graffiti. It’s dirty, grungy, smelly, vibrant, and beautiful.
When I left my apartment today, it looked like this:
See the door in the bottom left corner? Nothing artistic like the murals around the neighborhood, but it has a certain character.
Tomorrow, I will be a little disappointed to see only this:
Slice of Life is a daily writing challenge during the month of March hosted by Two Writing Teachers. Visit their blog for more information about the challenge and for advice and ideas about how to participate.