give me some roses paddy

On my way to the park this morning, I had to stop for a chat with Paddy next door. He was watering his and Mary’s roses. It’s occurred to me that if I was capable of imagining away the wall between our two courtyards, I could count Paddy and Mary’s roses as my roses. Paddy and I spoke a few days ago, and he remembers that I can’t understand a word of his English. I really tried to understand this time: a man who washes the windows came, to my house?, and he took a bucket, but he might come back?, though I’m young enough to wash the windows myself. After each new piece of information, Paddy did a corresponding arm gesture and asked if I understood. I laughed and said yes.

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