looked genuinely embarrassed.
“Oh, no. Margaret, I’m sorry. Seriously. I’ll stop.”
I believed him.
In fact, I walked downstairs feeling slightly guilty for confronting him.
The Second Conversation
At seven the following morning, I heard something hit the balcony.
Another tea bag.
I stood inside looking through the glass.
Still, I waited.
That might sound ridiculous.
But people who’ve lived in apartment buildings understand.
Shared buildings operate on social mathematics.
You may pass the same person in a narrow hallway hundreds of times.
You hear one another through walls.
Share lifts.
Share entrances.
Share parking spaces.
A small argument can make years of ordinary interactions uncomfortable.
I wanted to believe Daniel was careless rather than inconsiderate.
So I gave him time.
Three weeks.
Then one January morning, I was sitting outside with coffee and a book when something dropped from above.
A wet tea bag landed directly on the pale
