Wednesday, 24 July 2002
They live on the top floor of the house on the corner; there are windows on two sides of their apartment, and the roof slants steeply. They have no balcony. He has long, dark blond hair, which he usually wears in a ponytail. He is in his early thirties and works in a shop, selling knickknacks with an African theme. He looks as though he might drink wheat-grass juice. He drives a rust-colored car, probably an Opel. The car is parked in a vacant lot across the street from their apartment.
She is his girlfriend, or his wife. She is roughly the same age and height as he is, skinnier, with short, dark hair. She likes to wear black tank-tops, dark jeans, and boots. During thunderstorms they lean out the window together and watch the rain. She clings to him and plays with his hair. She is pregnant.
They own a puppy. It is a slightly more vivid rust-color than the car. It will not be a large dog. When they unlock the street door, they take the puppy off its leash. It pees against the building before following them inside. The leash is blue and patterned; the pattern is too small to see from my window.