Our building elevator works when it feels like it. I guess today was one of those days when it did not feel like it. Mom said we needed to “respect the process” and take the stairs.
We live on the 16th floor. That is 100% too many floors. Smucky ran up all those stairs like this was the Olympics. I crawled behind him like a dehydrated sloth. Climbing stairs is no fun, especially when you are carrying bags of groceries.
"I’m not planning trouble.
But the city seems like a great place for it."
We met our maintenance man, Mr. Otis, who has a face that looks like it has seen many battles in his day. He looks like he’s 100 years old, so I don’t know how he’s going to fix anything. He came over to see if he could fix our TV. In the middle of moving yesterday, we had it sitting on the balcony on our patio table so the movers could put the sofa in the right spot. I wasn’t paying attention and accidently pushed the TV off the balcony.
When it hit the concrete sidewalk downstairs after falling 16 floors, it shattered into a million pieces. Sorry Mom. But anyway, Mr. Otis said my idea of putting it back together with gorilla glue is not going to work, but he knows some people who might be able to get us a new one for a good price.
He said, “Welcome to the neighborhood, young man,” and gave Smucky a dog cookie. He told me to listen to my mom and stay out of trouble. He said this while squinting at me like he already knows I get ideas.
Old people creep me out. They have really weird ways of looking at you. I’m not sure when slavery ended, but Mr. Otis looks like he was probably alive back then, so maybe the ancestors came to him in a dream and told him about me.
I’m not planning trouble. But the city seems like a great place for it.
