Day 2 of 30

Day 2: Mrs. Harvey

Mrs. Harvey is a woman ill suited to having a first name. Not many people know what precedes the Harvey on the letterheads of bank statements, and this has only added to her mystery. The people on the street know she smells like wet lilies and has hair the colour of pinecones. They know the lumps and bumps and humps of her old body remind them of roller coasters and that she makes speeches to the stars when she hangs her socks out to dry.  That’s all they know. There are rumors she is a famous poet from Poland who escaped during WWII and now writes poetry with shaky hands under a pseudonym. For a while, it was believed that she was the daughter of a crocodile wrestler from Cairns who travelled in a carnival called Crikey Crocs!™ around the swamplands of America. There was once a brief accord between neighbors that she had the ashes of seven husbands in Tupperware containers on her mantelpiece. And so it is that none of the neighbors avoid talking to each other, as is often the case in many streets, because there was always  a new story to be heard or told about Mrs. Harvey in house number 71.