A few years back, a new neighbor called. “Katie, there’s an old man leaning against my front wall, should I call the police?” I pulled my window up and leaned out to look, just two houses over. There was Paul, a retired carpenter who’s lived on my street for thirty-five years. (My mom paid him to build me a loft bed when I was 16.) Paul. How can she not know who Paul is? He spends every day outside, walking a few hundred yards, resting, walking, and smoking, always in pressed white carpenter pants. I … Continue reading Photo of My Street by Katie Davis →