Ghostworld

I was on the throne in the upstairs bathroom when Schroedinger the cat slipped in, looking for something to do.

He jumped onto the glass-topped vanity and tried to jump higher, onto some shelves, but the glass was too slick and his legs shot out from under him as he leapt.

He biffed it pretty good, then fixed his eyes on me and yeoweled.

"What?" I responded, "I didn't do it."

Then he abruptly looked up and trotted out, as if tracking an insect or something, which I didn't see.

"Ghost?" I wondered.

These places were just built in '04, but replaced an old warehouse in one of the oldest parts of town - our Chinatown,* dating back almost a hundred years - and who knows? Maybe there was a sweat shop or something here.

But in spite of the paranormal possibility, I figured it was probably the sub-audible muddlings of our upstairs neighbor that'd distracted Schroedinger.

And living here is kinda like that.

You don't exactly hear the neighbors so much as sense them in your bones; the pinging of their steps as they walk on adjacent metal staircases, the occasional muffled thud from above, and the shush of air from just outside the window, marking the passage of some vague personage.

We rustle like wasps in the individual cells of a hive, feel each other, breath the same air, yet avert eyes when outside these paper thin walls.

It's both intimate and strange.

*There's a chinese restaraunt just around the corner, "Chop Suey" or something, that's been around a hundred years. Tastes like cafeteria food but the bluehairs love it.