It was from my desk where I first fell in love with this city. In my mind, there was only one option for its location when I was first moving in: nestled between my bay windows, giving me a 180 degree view of the streets below. A sturdy desk in an empty room, standing alone and inviting me to sit in its perch.

I live down the street from Alamo Square and as my people-watching continued day by day, I began to notice recurring characters taking their dogs to the park in their daily routine. Some folks walking up to the park, others walking back from it, and me, stagnant, living in the median of their climb and descent. After a year of working from my desk, I started to feel a connection to these neighbors, though we don’t know each other’s names, each other’s stories. I feel as though I formed something like a parasocial relationship except instead of through a phone screen, it’s through a window screen.

A cool flip flop-wearing gentleman with a seemingly older Collie

Steadily striding to Alamo, the Collie always a few paces behind. There used to be two Collies striding along with this man and the day I realized I may not see the other one again, I shed a few tears, but I now choose to believe the other one has just been resting up for an upcoming match, Air Bud style.

A bike-avid mother, her baby situated snug between her handle bars, and their extremely loyal dog always running behind.

This little family was my favorite, but I believe they have since moved away and are now probably making other neighbors happy with their heartwarming dynamic.

An extremely stylish neighbor with a shaggy, but equally chic pup in toe, making a crosswalk look like a catwalk on their casual daily strolls.

In the cliche of dogs looking like their owners, these ones feel like each other: emanating the same ‘coolness’ as their steps sync down the street.

With this, I can’t help but to think, “Who am I in someone’s story?”. Is there a window-watcher absent mindedly following me with their eyes as I meander for my morning coffee, making up a story about where I’m coming from and where I’m going. I think that’s just part of being human: curious, observant, and always finding little bits of poetry in the ordinary. Here in San Francisco, in the Lower Haight, we’re all quietly romanticizing each other’s lives.

This story was originally published in the October issue of Lower Haight Local.