Screwdriver

It’s still early when I head down to the basement, where I can exit through the building’s back door and head to the laundromat.  Downstairs I run into Willie, the building superintendent, and we have a lengthy conversation about my leaky faucet and the exterminator schedule.  Antonio, who is working on a project to install a supporting bracket for every air conditioner in the building, is also in the basement.  He recently finished my air conditioners and I let him know that he left his screwdriver at my place, and Willie jokes that every apartment has a remnant of Antonio’s toolbox.

At the laundromat, I ask if they will press pants without cleaning them.  The woman tells me they will do it for $3.00 instead of the usual $4.50 though sadly, they won’t wash-without-press for $1.50.

On my way to the station I realize I am wearing brown shoes and a very decisively brown outfit, and ponder the thought of people color coordinating Yamikas as well, in a Jewish metro-sexual kind of way.  On the platform, I say hi to Yoni S. and slap him five.  He is wearing sunglasses (although they might be transition lenses) and, still being winter outside, I sneer at them.  When the train arrives, I get a seat and settle in, and think about the updates I will need to give at my 9:30 meeting.