The Cold Drip

We might be moving soon.

The cold drip from the showerhead that lands on my head as I lean over the tub to turn on the faucet and run my bath.

The repetitive sound of a bouncing basketball echoing off of asphalt from the schoolyard across the street, directly through the screens of my open windows. Late nights, summer sunsets.

The too-loud mumble rap from next door. The teenaged kid dumping his bong water out of his second storey bedroom window within eyeline of my kitchen window. Dumping his garbage can out the same window. The eternal second-hand weed smoke.

The reverberations of bass tones from country music performed at the small bandshell down the hill. The cheers of a few dozen lawn-sitters with beers in hand and Canadian flags on their hats.