Saturday Morning on Masson Street.

Saturday Morning on Masson Street.

The sun is out and it’s spring again. You sit yourself at the corner table of a café, catch a conversation through the open window, busy street life everywhere.

You get a taste of bagel and coffee, shirt’s slightly open and you catch yourself smiling at your reflection in the computer screen.

Life is good here, life was good here, life will be good here again.

I had forgotten how many families were around, the booming energy of the place, well groomed dads and gorgeous moms crossing the street to catch up with some friends. A young girl jumps in the arms of a friend or an aunt and smiles are everywhere.

Heartfelt hug and “Oh my god. Look at you!”

A few words and then, “Where do you want to go?”

With so many options around it’s hard to say.

You put on your speakers and start to write. Not a second passes by before there’s someone to look at, styles and hairs and tattoos, you share a look, you give a smile and receive it back and feel good about it.

A tired man in track pants, 30 something, walks by, tired like no one else but looking smug and satisfied, tiny baby in a baby carrier snuggling close to him as a one track by flies on a red light in front of two cops that decided it best not to chase.

Not today! Weather’s too good.

You see kids and families and artists, hobos,dogs, punks, hipsters, bobos… everything. Life is beautiful here. Like a balance of everything this city has to offer.

Try to end this thing and you look up from the screen. Catch the glimpse of a smile in an old lady’s face as she’s dragging her red cart.

I think this is it, you think to yourself. There’s no end to what this place has to offer

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