Where I have lived for the last decade, on the wrong side of the tracks with the low rents & fashion crimes, amongst the madness, addiction, and poverty is getting old. I try walking past it all without stopping.

Just up the road is a coffee shop where I now go, mainly to leave my neighborhood, and although the buildings look the same, it might as well be a world away.

I can sit and read, and practically no one asks me for money. The young and beautifully affluent hardly offer me more than a glance. I like that. I like that a lot. I’m at that age now where I’m not interested in their opinions even if they offered them up. I am reading the Russian masters now. The Master & Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov…

This, too, shall pass.