We're not, as a rule, social people. Our first experience with other tenants came when the doorbell rang one day. With the security lock, each apartment had its own doorbell. When it rang, it sounded like a cow giving birth to an elephant. I kissed Monica goodbye, then closed the door behind me, and got halfway down the first flight of stairs when I smelled it.
Someone in the building was smoking pot.
I went back up to the door, peeked in, and told Monica, "Come here and smell this."
Her face wasn't one of jubilant expectation. How many times has someone said, "Smell this," and handed you something pleasant?
The smell had wafted up more, and she didn't have to leave the apartment to smell it.
"Nice," she said.
"Yeah, classy neighbors, I can tell."
The doorbell rang again, then a third time "Go before he does it again," Monica said.
I went, and escaped into the cool autumn air.
In the car, Rich asked how I was enjoying living on my own.
"It's nice," I said. "It's different. It's interesting. One of our neighbors is smoking pot."
He looked sideways at me and I laughed, nodding, confirming what I said was true.
"I'm gonna have to visit more often," he said.
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