Hope and Joy: colourful neighbours with boots and trucks, but could there be more?
The apartment block was one of those red-brick walk-ups, with the wooden fire escape steps and landings up the back outside wall. Units facing front looked out over the street, those facing back had the view of the alley. Neither position was particularly favourable — noise was ever-present, though the front view did include patches of scrappy grass and a couple of flowerbeds that persisted even in the face of neglect, the hostas and bleeding hearts unimaginative but reliable. In unit 4-A lived Hope. She had been there a long time, ever present like the noise but quieter, more elusive than the traffic and the stray cats. Nonetheless, she was the anchor of the block, older than most other residents, “seasoned” is how she described herself, and easily identifiable by her perennial purple boots and red sweater. “Make a statement — or make me a better offer,” she liked to joke with a wink to anyone who commented on her style. Knocking people off their rock-solid assumptions was, maybe, Hop...