This morning I stood with just a towel on in my bathroom, closely inspecting my chin and face in the mirror as I shaved before breakfast.

I looked out of my first-floor bathroom window onto North Street, and noticed that immediately outside my house stood a critical mass of individuals waiting for the bus: a father offering cookies to his daughter, a teenager staring dumbly into the street, and a man, listening to a personal music player, standing extremely still.

What a juxtaposition of activities.

Where else, but in a city? The density inherent, necessary in a city breeds juxtapositions such as the one I experienced this morning. Our compartmentalized, extremly seprate lives must border onto each other somewhere. It is at the seams where urbanity is often most interesting — where we can meditate on the phenomenon of the city, a place where unlikely groups of strangers encounter each other and carry on with their disparate activities, necessarily side-by-side.