My thighs strained. I was wearing shorts, a backpack and carrying a black plastic liquor store bag. I was undignified. They caught me off guard, or something. I walked up the stairs past my neighbors conversation about local wine tasting.
I gave a smile that was undoubtedly bigger in mind than it was on my face. smirk. smurf. I meant to look friendly, but I am sure I was oozing rude white girl.
I keyed into my apartment, made my favorite cannellini bean surprise, olive oil, capers, the works. My favorite.
I opened the bottle of rosé.
As the screw spiraled down into the cork, I wondered.
I wondered how many people in my building were opening bottles of wine at the end of their days. At the same time. I wondered how it would be if we all opened the same bottle, together.
We clearly have things in common. We have lived in the same building for 10 years. We have the dry cleaners in common. We have the have man who yells “Glory, Hallelujah” repeatedly in common. The man with three pomeranians and a prosthetic leg, we all know him. We know our landlord is a slumlord (shhhh). And that someone smokes pot in the morning and its reprehensible, but that it smells good.
But then I remembered how nice it is to be alone at the end of stressful day and I imagined that we had that in common too.
