#48 My how’s-the-weather-friends
I have always found small talk irritating. In the past, I didn’t have patience for questions like ‘did I take breakfast’ or ‘why am I still not fat’ or ‘why do I have grey hair’ thrown at me by middle-aged ladies . But lately the same small talk has become the base colour of my everyday life. It feels like without my neighbours with whom my conversation is strictly limited to the weather and other niceties, my days would be incomplete.
First, let me tell you about my soviet-style residence building. It was built in the 70s probably as a social housing complex. Old, rickety with royal purple elevators on all the floors, it reverberates as the train passes by and sways with the wild Toulouse winds.
There’s one neighbour who often wears a fisherman jacket, and has two twin friends a few buildings away who also wear their fisherman jackets. All three of them look the same: fat round bodies, scruffy white beard, a bald head and thick rimmed eye glasses. They go fishing together at the canal in the afternoons almost everyday. I don’t think they actually find anything in there except for broken bicycle parts. He smokes some stiff tobacco and his presence lingers in the elevator for hours. He has a hunting dog called Cristal. She’s tiny and quite ferocious and always wants to tear your trash bags.
Then there’s another old man who I see EVERYWHERE! He’s usually out and about or eating lunch at the local bars. He cycles around, meets his friends and all the neighbours. I love doing small talk with him but I don’t understand much behind his heavy Toulousain accent. He’s got chic loafers, an outfit for every activity, a great denim jacket, a classic leather jacket, excellent summer shorts. His shirts are always ironed and hair done up in a coiffe that will make him win the lottery.
Then there’s this jackass, I call him so because I know he hates me. He loves listening to vocoder music and smoking bad pot. He likes experimenting with his hair and only wears black hoodies and oversized cargo pants. One time he bleached his hair and dyed pink crescents on his head.
I’ve been bumping into another old lady whom I like, she’s got the cool short French hair and big mascara-ed eyes. She was quite worried during covid and says that the protests are not going to end. And I believe her.
Then there’s this 90 year old lady. She’s tiny, with a full head of silver hair, wears cute dresses and carries a wooden walking stick. I don’t see her often as she only comes out of her apartment to check her mail. She has a massive forest in her apartment and I see her tending to it sometimes. She tells me not to worry and go ahead as we share our short elevator ride, but she always gets stuck at the door as she walks very slowly. She tells me to enjoy my youth during this one shared minute. And then we say goodbye and move on with our days.
Sorry for the late letter today! See you next week (: ! Have a great week ahead!
x