>The secret lives of my neighbors
I wonder who my neighbors really are. The woman across the hall just came home from who knows where. I have never seen her here on a weekend. She’s been here since I have, so I’ve managed to come up with about 200 stories about her.
Most likely, she works somewhere in Indy as a consultant of some sort and goes “home” on the weekends. She leaves for work around the same time I do and gets home from work just a little earlier than me.
Once we had an exchange. One morning I was singing “Oranges… oranges…” and she smiled and told me to have a good day. That’s it.
Very odd. Oh well… one day I’ll try to talk to her. Maybe.
People are strange, when you’re a stranger.