Lost in a Paper Bag
Last night, I spent several minutes trying to break into the apartment downstairs from mine.
The doors are identical, and they have the same apartment number painted above the door. I fiddled with my keys for 10 minutes, but when I began some exploratory shoulder throws into the stuck door a young man opened it. He looked very composed for someone who had clearly just retrieved his clothes from the floor.
Startled, I peered past him into Not My Apartment.
Are you upstairs?, he asked in Spanish.
Yes, I said. Possibly. Apologies.
I really should keep a bottle of wine in the apartment.