FREDDY

Our Super was in a serious bicycle accident the other day, one that busted his head open and left him in a coma he only recently has emerged from. We got the news from neighbor down the street, who was hanging out in our foyer waiting for some information. A cameraman from some local station was tagging along for b-roll footage, hoping to talk to Freddy’s wife and family, but they weren’t home at the time.

Most noticeable in all this was the amount of familiarity people had with one another, much different than Seattle where most people didn’t know who the hell they were living with or around. I was always throwing out the hand at my old apartment whenever I ran into anyone I didn’t know, usually in the ridiculously cramped laundry room where it seemed preposterous for two people to move around in without some sort of familiarity. Most of the 20-somethings seemed utterly petrified to risk any attempt at socialization, though I can imagine things go a whole lot smoother on at the bars on club nights.