Passing Neighbors
Cherry Blossoms (NYC) If it's Sunday morning, I can generally be found trudging back and forth between the building laundry room and my apartment. My own washer/dryer combo has been broken for a year now and I am eternally torn between replacing it and repairing it. So I do my laundry downstairs with my neighbor from another floor whose name I do not know. We exchange pleasantries every week. She has a daughter who moved to Alaska (for love) that she plans to visit this spring. In turn, she knows that I just went to Canada for a couple of weeks. My Sunday morning routine will often include a dash to the Dunkin Donuts -- coffee for me, OJ without pulp for Miguel the doorman. Miguel, like most NYC doormen, probably knows everything there is to know about me. Those lazy Sunday mornings always include Law & Order playing in the background as I putter around my apartment (or more often around Facebook, that evil time suck to quot...