And here we are again, a few blocks south. From the living room window, trees of heaven, tangled vines, a line heavy with laundry. The backs of the buildings have none of those front-of-the-house airs. Who the hell cares? They dress down, show their age; patches of asphalt shingles crumble, showing the clapboards lying underneath. A canopy covers almost all a yard and brings the inside out for the season. It's August. Everything relaxes. Enjoy it while you can.