6:15 a.m.

I hear someone shouting at the next apartment door: Mr. Wilson. 6:15. Time to wake up.

Then the jangling of some keys. “Wake up, Mr. Wilson.” Into iPad communicator: “He’s locked the damned door. I can’t find the key.”

Well it’s a new voice. People change around here faster than – oh I was going to say something about the current prez but am doing my best to stay in a political vacuum. Why?

Because it is just useless.

However, she doesn’t knock on my door. She just opens it and yells 6:15. “Time for breakfast.”

You’re new, aren’t you?

No. I’m… oh yeah, she says, I am new. New to this floor.

“I don’t go up for meals,” I say.

“No meals?” she asks.

“Not until I run out of cash,” I replied.

If you need to make the bed, I think, come back after nine. But I’m sleepy and annoyed at having to break in a new blue shirt who will probably be here a week or two. Then they leave or get fired (maybe) but most likely get switched to another floor.

You can’t box the wind.

Fighting the Wind