Tar

Workers have been repairing the road outside for the past week. First they bulldozed away the sleeping policemen, then they chipped out the manhole covers like fossils from bedrock. Now, finally, they are laying the tarmac. Yesterday they upgraded one side of the road, today the other, starting their machinery at around six o'clock this morning.

Tonight, I jogged around the block, watching how the new black tarmac gleamed under an almost full moon. If it weren't for so many yellow porch lights, I think I might have been able to conjure a romantic vision from it.

Discovered earlier today, a set of footprints can now be seen on the grey slate steps in front of our house. They are permanent ones, printed in tar. Oddly enough, they are quite neat, rising in confident strides towards our front door before suddenly disappearing.