I never run out of breath until I reach the top floor of our building, the fifth floor, our floor. I pant like an old man as I approach, lumbering, reaching for the keyhole with my key.
The key never fails to make a spark on the lock.
They installed new lights in our lobby and dilapidated stairwells, bright lights that are surely meant to conform to code or evince a renovation for which they might have cause to jack up rents. They are dismal, garish lights, too bright. And some cocksucker from Domino's Pizza left a stack of menus to fan out on the foyer floor.