I was sitting by the stairs on the corner, giving my cat company as he sat mournfully watching the street through the balcony grill. His white coat was interrupted by scars and dirt spots from his valient struggle against the neighborhood tom cat, at least thrice his size.

On my balcony, by the stairs, I can see right out to my neighbors. Today two young girls, natural friends given how close they lived to each other, started folding up fliers the supermarket had left on letter boxes all over the street. They made themselves a fleet of paper airplanes and labouring up two flights of stairs, started a bombardment that lasted at least 3 minutes. They ran back down and ran back up in seconds, paper airplanes all dutifully recollected.

This time one child’s grandmother covered under a pile of bedsheets she was folding and wearing a saree that looked suspiciously like a bedsheet gave them tips. The other child’s father back from work with a backpack, t-shirt and shorts and shortness that made it look like the two were only a few years apart also threw down airplanes. He did considerable worse than both the children. The children were encouraging between looks they exchanged with every failed launch.

The children flew back down and collect all the planes and ran back up disappearing completely. This was probably marks the only time someone gave those flyers a second look.