Every city and town contains people of different classes: rich, poor, and somewhere in between. What’s it like where you live? If it’s difficult for you to discern and describe the different types of classes in your locale, describe what it was like where you grew up — was it swimming pools and movie stars, industrial and working class, somewhere in between or something completely different?
We lived in a rented flat. We were in the sixth floor just under the roof. We had a kitchen and a heater fuelled with charcoal and an old elevator that was frequently out-of-order, which was a problem. Above all for the poor man who delivered the charcoal each week carrying the heavy sack. Our neighbour next door rented rooms to students.
The biggest star in our neighbourhood was a law student who had a room rented. He never completed his grades. He was always in the bar, never in the classroom. Handsome and charming, he was a failure as a student but was successful with girls. He spent a lot of years being a student. At least twelve. He even printed a visit card with the title “Student of law” on it. I don’t know how he did it without being expelled. Now I suspect he had been expelled and he was simply pretending. He was quite a character. Eventually he disappeared. I guess his parents grew tired from paying his easy life and his finances collapsed.
The other neighbours in our floor were the building’s porter and his family. A big family with the grandparents the parents and six kids, all packed in a few rooms.
We all have in the kitchen a balcony open to a narrow patio. But not the patio you can imagine, but a simply roofless inner space in which we could communicate with our neighbours easily chatting from balcony to balcony. No phone needed. It was fun. Most of the time.
Some home tasks like hanging the washed clothes or go to the larder to take something to cook were absolutely public. We knew what our neighbours were cooking and they knew about us.
Down, in the patio’s ground, there were several cats, controlled by the porter, to get rid of mice and rats. No place for recreation there. It was dark and ugly.
Sometimes with heavy rains the ground get flooded. That was the nearest thing to a swimming pool I saw in my neighbourhood.
Daily Prompt: West End Girls.
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Who are your neighbors? Are you friends with them, barely say hi, or avoid them altogether? Tell us a story — real or invented — about the people on the other side of your wall (or street, or farm, or… you get the point).
I live in an apartment and, believe it or not, among my neighbours are the Marquesses of the Royal Defence. How on earth ended I as a neighbour of a family with such a pompous nobility title? It seems the building, located in the old city, was theirs, but they sold it, except for the apartment they’re living in. They have other properties in the region but they like to live a simple life in the city. They are a very nice couple, very polite, very easy-going. Nobody would said they are part of the nobility. They blend with everybody without problems. In fact I only discovered they were the marquesses when I read about them in the local newspaper. It was quite a surprise. We have a nice neighbour relationship. They are extremely polite and quiet. We use to visit each other for Christmas and have a good time together. We help each other when we need something. We visit them when there is some event as a new-born grandchild (their son lives in the same building) or something like that.
We have a very good relationship with our neighbours from the apartment next to ours. Two sisters, very friendly and always ready to help when we needed something. We shared with them our newspaper. And they, very good cooks, gave us cookies and cakes or fresh vegetables they brought us from their country house. We see each other every day. Wonderful people.
Very different were my former neighbours in another building. They were always making some reforms in their apartment, with all the noise you can imagine. Drilling, hammering, sawing without end at all hours. My ailing Mom was exhausted because she couldn’t rest. I went once to talk with them and a man opened the door with a hammer in his hand. I tried to ask him politely if he could stop making noises at certain hours when my Mom had to rest. He answered, very angry and rudely, that he had right to do whatever he wanted at his home whenever he wanted and told me to go out of his presence immediately, hammer in hand. I was so scared I never dared to go alone to complain again. We had to go thru the neighbourhood community to solve our differences. It was really nasty. For me was a mystery what they were doing to that apartment because for years there were no end to the constant drilling and hammering coming from above.
In that building we had problems also with our neighbours from below: a supermarket. Again the noises. Noises from machines. From the freezers and from the air conditioner machines. We had also vibrations from these machines. At night it was impossible to sleep. We complain but they said that we were exaggerating, so we finally had to call the police to measure to noise at night and prove it exceeded the legal limit. They finally were forced to repair the installation.
Daily Prompt: Good Fences?.
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