Early, Brothers, Sisters, O-Verdun

It was 7:00AM, too cold to be outside, and I sheltered inside a bank foyer waiting for the grocery store to open. Boy, do ATMs ever get a lot of action.

Some people live in apartments, and some of these apartments have McDonald's on the ground floor. I am kept company by a chain-smoking man across the way, who shouts to his friend Peter. Peter wanters over, a balding man wearing a winter jacket of faux black denim, nursing a gigantic iced cappucino, evidently obtained from where he just was - kiddie corner to us at the Tim Hortons. They speak at length, the former expounding on some aggravating tale about who wants to do what and who wants who to think who can do what or some such.

This is the second time this building has tried to dupe me. It started raining just as I was trying to add some last-minute details. The park was so carpeted with leaves that it felt like you might sink into the crevices between the sidewalk and the pavement where the mountain heaps lay. A man illegally fed squirrels nuts, two girls walked by identically dressed (I'm pretty sure by accident), a hispanic man and his little girl rested on a park bench on the way home from school. He shouted at a woman he apparently knew, and even his french sounded like spanish. She responded affirmatively, waving goodbye and hurrying away, smile fading,  her jostled briefcase falling open despite her firm grip.

The name of this house is a pun? If it is, it's funny.