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Walls

{written in Nov. '12} 
A city is a wondrous thing. Everywhere you look there are walls. Walls made out of brick and concrete. Stacco and paint on the outside, wallpaper, photos, paintings and bookshelves on the inside, intersected with electricity cables and service pipes. Walls drawing a line between one person's life and the other's. Walls to shut the world outside, and mark one's territory. Walls to keep rain, cold and uninvited guests out, and hide family possessions, accumulated habits and dirty laundry from the eyes of the world. 
Looking over the city - this mosaic of attic windows, crammed courtyards, ramshackle sheds and laundry flying in the wind - I wished that the walls would not be so unrelenting. That I could peek inside and look around. In the courtyards, behind the attic windows, inside the musty sheds. Look around the living room, ask who the people in the photos are, peek inside the fridge, get a glimpse of how this household lives, what the people ar…

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