A Knock At The Door
It was a dark and chlly night. We were packing groceries into our new home on the south end of Haliburton Street. There was a knock on the door. Unsure of the neighbourhood, which had a ripe reputation, we squinted through the peephole in the door.
On our step stood a stocky youth, his hat tilted on a jaunty angle and his breath steaming in the cold night air. We unlatched the door and opened it six inches. "Yes?" we chanted in unison.That's when we noticed the youth had a friend standing by our front gate, also watching us with interest.
"Hey, yeah," the nearest fellow said. "Just wanted to let you know you left your keys in the door there." He nodded toward the door handle. Sure enough, there were our precious new keys, still in the lock on the outside of the door.
"Yeah," added the chap by the gate. "You kinda gotta be careful in this neighbourhood." They both laughed.
We thanked the lads sincerely and retrieved our keys. Shutting the door on the cold night, we were both thinking, 'welcome to Nanaimo'. And there on the south end of Haliburton, we knew we would be fine.