I can hear my husband at the front of the apartment. He’s assembling a complicated Lego building, which means little plastic pieces are rattling together in the Tupperware he’s scavenged from the kitchen for sorting. He’s playing Kacey Musgraves; he’s been going through a country-girl sort of phase (with my full support).
All three cats are lounging in sunspots in the bedroom. When all the shades are pulled high, a nearly solid wall of sunlight shoves into the room. I can hear the tinny growl of a tiny airplane engine, and beyond that, construction, and beyond that, the waves of the Pacific and the trolley’s occasional bell. Pretty good day.