Last week, I opened my back door to three stories of absolutely nothing. As it turns out, building management is replacing the back porch/fire escape.
On the one hand, this will be very nice, as the fire escape had been quite rickety and the steps irregular--which is a real hazard for people like me who have a hard enough time on flat surfaces.
On the other hand, I'll have several weeks chock full of opportunities to forget that there is nothing outside my back door but certain death.
Also, as I was clipping my nails, I accidentally cut half my toe off.
Bets are now open for whether the fall or the gangrene will get me first.
(Prada has been accompanying me to work while the construction is going on. In the car this morning, we discovered she passionately hates the song "Breakfast at Tiffany's" by Deep Blue Something--she howled during the entire thing. But she does like classical.)