written: January 17, ’15
the funny thing about apartment living is that your home automatically becomes 15-20 other Peoples home…
and that just unit twelve.
As I lay in the middle of our living room floor (post yoga), I hear a man pass by my door, walk up thirty-seven steps and knock on apartment 1216. the man who lives above us comes to the door unlocks 2 of 3 locks and welcomes his guest. I can hear their muddled hello as the two settle into whatever afore-mentioned plans had been agreed upon.
The man upstairs…. lives alone but keeps company, concerns himself with safety but isn’t overtly precautious, He likes music with a lot of base and video games… I know when he showers, flushes and cooks. Seems so intimate yet I don’t know his name or what he looks like or even definitively that he is in fact a man.
Isn’t that the way with most humans, you think you know who they are, but you don’t know where they’ve been, how far they’ve come, or where they are going.
I wonder if the man upstairs wonders about his own man upstairs or about the us downstairs…