Outside My Door

Last weekend is a bit muddled, so I’ll spare the details. There was an elevator pitch of sorts, an accidental brush with American Psycho territory, two sets of decoy directions, a street fair, part of a basketball game, bluegrass music, a $5 limo ride, a brisk walk through the deserted meat packing district, a surprise picnic on Roosevelt Island, and two mornings when I went to bed with the sunrise. I think the only time I remembered to breathe was when I was caught behind Frida, my 91-year-old neighbor, who still manages to climb up the five flights of stairs to her apartment step.by.aching.step.