Once Again

A neighborhood; another one.
Bystanders can see you are just radiating joy. . .
Another neighborhood - the forth, but the seventh move. So far, this one is different. . .

Driving down Archer Ave. you pass Damen. You continue to drive and find yourself peering out of the window. You may notice the Cermak Produce on the left and the Huck Finn family restaurant on the right. There is a new building that wasn't there a few years previously. You continue down Archer and notice the potholes and the garbage in the street. The traffic is light; its noon on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Just as you pass the New Archview resturant (obviously Americanized Greek), you make a slight right onto 35th street. You check the address and then realize its right there. You have to stop and pull to the right to park while ticking off the drivers behind you. You get out of the car and notice the old building standing proud across the street. It used to be a police station; it looks like condos now. . . You walk to the right, remember to lock the car and hop onto the sidewalk. You notice the shabby houses stacked right next to each other with no space to breath. While continuing to walk, you hear the, "doors closing" drone which can only belong to the CTA. Its the orange line, in fact. You wonder what the sound pollution might be like living next to the train; you also think of the convenience of public transportation. You walk to the first glass door to a stout, rectangular, brick building. Dialing the correct number, you put the phone to your ear and wait for an answer. "Hello?" a voice says. "I'm here," you say. With a hand on the door, you wait for the buzz of an unlocking lock. The line goes dead and you push the door open to let yourself in the small, but cozy lobby. You walk in and put the phone back in your pocket. In the next few seconds, you take in the world around you. A faux stone floor is beneath you and as you look up the modest chandelier is supplied with CFL bulbs. To your left and right are three identical mail boxes, the silver, unoriginal kind. You walk up the first, small leg of stairs and notice the color of them; a dark burgundy. They look old and redone. As you continue your climb, your steps set off the loud piercing bark of dog in the apartment on your left. It sounds like one of those small, annoying dogs. On the first landing, you see your reflection in a full length mirror and proceed up the second flight of stairs. On the second floor, you hear another dog barking. This bark is deeper, and could belong to a larger dog. The door on your right opens and a familiar face opens the door. A small dog, a dachshund, runs out and jumps on you in greeting. Of course, you knew the dog wasn't large, and of course you knew the face. In a short time, you will know all the details of your drive over. You will know every detail of this refurbished building and the streets around it. This was home, a different one, but home once again.