Happiness. It's relative.
Every day, twice a day, the woman walked north on my street in front of my house. From my second floor office, I could see her on the sidewalk, taking big strides and swinging two plastic bags from the grocery store. She had an intense, purposeful walk as if she saw the walking as a body-building exercise. Every muscle was involved in this walk, her whole body tensed, arms swinging as if they held weights. Though I couldn’t hear her, I always knew when she was coming toward my house. Sensed it, looked out the window and there she would be.
It would be at the point midway between the beginning and the end of our small city plot of land, a length of maybe 10 of her big steps, that she would jerk her head to the right, look over her shoulder, look at something for just a few…
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