One week before finals, the end of the semester and graduation, and this town is hopping. Uptown park has farmer’s market and various musical performers. There’s a modest but heartfelt sit in on campus urging the university to divest its interests in Israel. Shademakers Nursery is having a day long workshop on native shrubs and plants and how to get rid of invasive others. And across the street, where several girls are living (probably the proud owners of the WiFi moniker “The Bitches Upstairs”) a little drama ensues in which a young man goes to the door, knocks, waits, knocks, waits, brings out his phone and calls. Waits. Aha! The door opens. He’s not invited in but a fairly long conversation follows ending with a selfie, a good-bye and that’s that. My hour by the window ends with a bicyclist with white hair, helmet and briefcase sails by, narrowly missing a skateboarder, no helmet but plenty of speed. Yes.