Welcome to the Neighborhood

I felt his presence behind me as I began to open my front door. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed him stumbling up the front steps, obviously drunk, a fairly large guy. He made no effort to reach for keys. I waited, he stumbled. It was late enough that no one else was on the street. Wary of someone I didn’t know entering the building behind me, I boldly turned around and confronted him. “Excuse me, do you live here?” The words left my mouth with much more sass than I intended. He laughed, stumbled again, and with a snort replied, “Yes. 405.” Oh, great. My upstairs neighbor. My key still in the lock, I slowly turned it, then entered. He quickly weaved in front of me. Halfway down the hall he came to a dead stop. He spun around and stared. I stopped and faced him. He slowly opened his mouth and, in the exact same tone I had used with him, slurred the words, “Wait a minute. Do *you* live here?” I simply laughed and nodded yes.

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