So the condo is in the same part of town (read: The City) as the coffeehouse. It’s a couple blocks away and so in walking distance. So is that bakery, and the pizzeria, and certain important places. I’m on the fourth (top) floor. Met my downstairs neighbor who is ecstatic to have someone to show off talk to.
When he realized I’m the “Weaving Woman” the neighborhood sage Roger had mentioned knowing, he went into full fanboy tilt. Straightened him out at once. “So [unintelligible] has been bullshitting us about you? I wish I could say I’m surprised.” That’s Roger’s name? I don’t think I could even spell that!
He went on a little more about the elderly couple on the ground floor, the communal garden that is often the scene for drama and territorial fights, and the overall lazy contentment that settles in by dusk.
The condo is furnished. Mostly white everything with a few key colored accents. The bedroom, for instance, is brilliant white everything. Except for the black & red throw on the foot of the bed. And even that is mostly black except for a brilliant cardinal red block of color in one corner.
I haven’t quite accepted the furnishings yet. And I don’t feel at ease yet. This is more hotel than second home right now. And I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But so far, so good.
Too bad my tour guide never gave me his name. I’ll have to ask first before he gets wound up. Chatterbox.