O is for Ormond Close

I am contractually obliged to walk 50KM per month for exercise. The things my friends do to help me to take care of myself...

Today I walked by the same old dog on the porch on Anne Ct but he finally declined to bark at me. I guess I can cross 'achieve invisibility' off my bucket list. Hmm. Or maybe his old eyes have finally gone.

Today I walked down Ormond Close for the first time. It is called Ormond Close and not Ormond Court in order to appease and comfort the corporation executives, surgeons and expendable mafia lowerlings who live there, providing them the warmth, joy and coziness that only confidence in secure property values can induce. Um. I'm guessing at all that.

First observation: The homes are all BIG and new. Second observation: The front porches are all really really tiny. The kind that could not even accommodate a little girl's tea party with a single imaginary gnome guest. The kind that states very clearly: No, dear neighbour, I'm sure you're real swell but you may not pop over and hang with me. There's no room to sit.

Ah but wait. At the throat of Ormond Close there is that trademark suburbia macaroni bend right before the intersection that hides the neighborhood from any potential unwanted types; Sunday Driver Gawkers, Joint Casers, Soiree Crashers or the like.

And to assist the illusion, the first few houses; the ones visible to passers-by on the main street, are smaller abodes. And what do you know? These smaller homes have... big porches.

Hmm. Are home builders of the impression that poor people are friendlier than rich people? Or just more outdoorzy?

Curious.