Addendum to Friday, July 4th

I finally have those neighbors - the ones that love each other, or pretend to. Each day he walks her to her car, not to fulfill any mandate, but as if it feels appropriate and imperative to the quality of his day. They walk without urgency, surveying the bowing treetops. He turns at the door of the car. Her face is turned up, glowing, expectant, pregnant with what must be a well preserved thirty year love, or else a late blooming, as yet untried one. Their goodbye kisses are too intimate. I feel I am trespassing from my balcony perch. I flush with embarrassment as I turn from the scene. I don't have to watch. I hear his low murmurs. She's buckling herself in next to a ragged stuffed bear and I don't see that this is any better. I'm a hack. An imposter.