Rainy day.

I befriended a Bob Marleyesque braided man in the elevator yesterday. He helped me with my laundry. The rub: I think he is a crack dealer, and he lives across the hall. When we walked down the hall there was a mess of a lady, literally cracked out and shaking, waiting for him outside his door. Lovely.

Then, this morning 6:30am, I'm coming inside from the rain with the two dogs. False alarm on Caliope pooping a solid yesterday, so she's still sick. As I push open the elevator door, these two beasts - there hair was standing on end, and they looked like extras from Michael Jackson's Thriller video- give me dirty looks. I can only assume because I had the nerve to walk out of the elevator? The one monster kept saying, "I DON'T THINK SO. I DON'T THINK SO." They continued chanting and staring as I walked down the hallway.

For those of you who keep asking why I don't move. I will, I promise. I already have plans to go back to Queens in the Spring with Katie Noonan, and never, ever look back in the direction of Brooklyn.