Going Outside
Whenever I want to go downstairs, I step into the hallway, which lately has been smelling as if someone is cooking a rotting corpse for dinner.
Then, I step onto the elevator. The fan in the elevator lately has been making a hideous noise that sounds like an space alien baby is being jabbed repeatedly in the eyes with serrated acid dipped needles. This makes the ride down the six floors to the lobby very pleasurable.
Then I step out in front of the building to head for the subway. The super’s father has been making it a habit to take a chair downstairs to the sidewalk, and he sits in front of the building wearing a fez on his head and smoking a cigarette in a long cigarette holder. Whenever I walk by him he points at me and laughs and then starts spouting some thickly accented gibberish I don’t understand.
Then he starts picking his nose and wiping the contents of his nose on his socks.
This is just a small view into of my little slice of paradise.