A woman walked along the sidewalk

and a man asked her for her hand

He said,”In exchange for your hand, I’ll give you a staircase. It is probable that at some point you’ll need to climb and you won’t need a hand to go up the stairs.”

and so, she gave him her hand. It seemed a logical and necessary thing to do.

Of course, the first thing she did with her brand new stairs was ascend them.

Going up the stairs she met another man and he asked her for her foot.

He said,”Well, you have two of them and you really only need one to get to the top. As it is, we all have only one foot here. In exchange, I’ll give you this elevator and then you can rise without climbing.”

Thinking this was a logical and necessary thing to do, she gave him her foot.

Of course, the first thing she did when she received her brand new, shiny elevator was hop inside and press the button for the top floor.

Along the way, the elevator stopped and let in a third man. He asked for her heart.

He said,”Hearts are seldom used here and besides, hearts are of little value when they are unnecessary. In exchange, I’ll give you this key to the penthouse at the very top floor. You will be able to see the whole, wide world from the top.”

Believing this was a logical and necessary thing to do, she gave him her heart.

The man took his bloody prize and stepped out on the next floor with a wink.

The woman turned the key and rose to the penthouse.

Once there, she gazed at the whole, wide world and in her limbs she felt a tingling for what was missing. Inside her was a vast emptiness, wider than her spectacular penthouse view. She wondered why she needed the stairs, or the elevator, or the key for that matter.

“Well,” she said to herself (as there was no one else there),”We do what we must to achieve what we want.”

The mom from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape lives on the third floor. Sometimes I hear her yelling for help to get upstairs to her son who is in his thirties and apparently needs his own apartment. She sounds really mean in a whiny, guilt inducing, rasping, wheezing way. Sometimes I’ll see her sitting (squatting, occupying) with her walker outside of the building (when she manages to make it outside) and waiting for help to get into her apartment. I think she’s a home shopping addict, all the delivery guys know her by name and there’s always a package waiting for her in the hallway. I wonder: how can someone who never leaves her apartment need so many things? 

There is a man who always wears white suits and has a Yanni ponytail. He uses too much cologne and I can always tell he’s been in the hallway hours after he’s left. Whenever I see him he has a bag of party favors. I don’t know why. I think he may be a pimp for Russian escorts. 

Then there’s the metal head troll on the first floor. He wears all black and has only come out of his apartment once, that I know of.

Lastly, my landlord, an 85 year old Polish man who knows limited English. He has mastered the phrase “You have rent?” Occasionally, he drinks a handle of vodka and will stand in his doorway wearing a banana hammock and an undershirt. Otherwise he’s been known to don a military uniform and walk around the neighborhood. When he’s away his wife invites men over. My landlord doesn’t allow me to give her my rent money. I think she’s mail-order as he is ancient and she looks about 60. 

All in all, it’s your typical Brooklyn apartment building.