The Pubs

On the back porch of a rowhouse unit in Halifax's public housing projects I sit and talk to the couple who live there, prepping them for a television interview. The husband sits and drinks a beer. The wife dons a pair of sunglasses and opens up an appointment book, which baffles me a little since the interview is not happening sometime in the next few weeks but in about ten minutes. A little girl with diry hair, dimpled knees and a stained orange T-shirt runs into the yard, carrying a hopeful expression on her face and a plastic bowl in her hands. The wife glances up from her appointment book and screams, "No, Savannah! We don't want any mud!"