Unrealism

En route from Kennett to Jennersville on Baltimore Pike (does anyone still call it LR131?) on a bleak, rainy Wednesday evening, I was driving through Toughkenamon and spied a top-floor garret, with bright light streaming out of its dormer windows. I immediately conjured up a fanciful image of a homey, cozy retreat, with a nice sofa and cheerful wallpaper and African violets, the kind of place where you could work or think out a problem, or relax and scratch the cat. I have no idea where that romantic notion came from: it's just as likely that it's drafty in the winter and hot as heck in the summer, and you have to climb three drab, depressing staircases to get up there.