Synagogue Steps

This early evening, Oates and Willie are posing on the top steps to an old synagogue down our street.  I have never seen these doors open.  The old rabbi comes out the side door occasionally, and we've chatted. He once ran back in and brought me cookies while I walked the boys. They have a weekly bluegrass night there.

When we walk by at night there is usually a young homeless woman sleeping on the top of those steps where the guys are standing. That's essentially, with a sleeping bag, and a tarp she puts up, her bedroom.

She favors black leather, moon boots, and a mohawk that changes color from time to time. I've seen her reading everything from The Wall Street Journal to a Joe Strummer book.  She has never talked to us but for some reason I've filed away that she's Canadian.

Right before this, we met a woman on the street with her dog, a miniature Husky. I grew up with a Siberian Husky, that's a story for another time, but had never heard they came in small sizes. She said she had just lost her other dog at the age of 18, for which I told her I was both sorry and encouraged.