Now that the warm weather has returned I am now working again in my workshop in the garage in the back alley. I really enjoy working there in the afternoon because the warm afternoon sun pours into the space through the open door.

The problem with working with the door open is that I get unexpected or unwanted visitors. T dropped by today, wanting to borrow a wrench and a bicycle pump, and spent 45 minutes instructing me in the finer points of paint stripping. T also wanted to sell me a girls mountain bike, which he guaranteed was “not hot”, his friend’s 1993 Oldsmobile (which has been sitting in the lot at the end of the alley all winter with flat tires), and a heat gun which would make my paint stripping go faster.

Last summer T popped in and out occasionally, offering various words of wisdom, deals, and sketchy business propositions. The strangest occasion was around 11 pm on a Saturday night. I was working late because I didn’t get a lot done in the day when T showed up, case of beer and intoxicated women in tow. T wanted something or other, and the women wanted to go party. When T put the case down, the women grabbed it and ran, followed by and agitated T. I closed the door shortly thereafter.

My garage door also becomes a window into the alley life. My neighbor on across the alley, M. Champagne, is often in her yard, and we chat occasionally. M. Champagne has told me that my 1200 square foot, two storey cottage used to be a Triplex- A large ground floor flat with two miniscule apartments upstairs! I could hardly image how people were able to cope in such tiny apartments. Given the lack of plumbing, I assume that the flats either shared a bathroom, or that each flat had just a toilet and sink, and the tenants took baths at the old bathhouse on Wellington.

Other inhabitants of my alley are the many alley cats in the neighborhood. During the warm seasons there are many, even dozens of cats, roaming the alley, rolling around in the dirt, and climbing the fences and sheds that back the alley. If I step into the alley, the cats give me a stare, like I am interrupting important business. The alley is theirs, and don’t mess with it.

When I work in my shop I often see people walking up and down the alley. There are the elderly men looking for something of value in the rubbish that somehow appears in the alley (two weeks ago a 6 foot by ten foot photograph of a man appeared) Teenagers walk in packs and sometimes after dark hang out and smoke joints.

Sometimes Emmanuel shows up, wanting to help me build things. Emmanuel is ten and lives down the lane. For Emmanuel, helping out is letting him use my table saw to make swords. This usually results in me making a sword (that is not sharp enough) that Emmanuel runs off with, eventually breaking it or throwing it away.

Sometimes I become the de-facto guardian to Emmanuel and his friends. Because I work in the alley, I wind up making sure that nobody loses an eye. These kids sometimes come to me to give them permission to do things that their parents won’t let them do. Last summer I was asked for matches so that the gang could light firecrackers. When asked why they didn’t ask their parents, the excuse was that the parents were sleeping, or too busy to be disturbed.

A neighbor has told me that when he was growing up, the alleys in the point were a battle ground, with battles raging between the French and Irish children of the point. I haven’t seen this in my alley- in fact; I have a hard time distinguishing between the various groups in the neighborhood. Emanuel has both Francophone and Anglophone friends, some speak one or both languages. But that is not important to Emanuel- what he cares about if that he is Anakin Skywalker, and that he is going to cut your legs off with his sword.