I’d left my glasses behind.

My hair was hanging in my eyes. I got on the down elevator. Pushed 10. Ping. The door opened. Again. Again. I was already on 10. I needed floor 2.

I moved across the country a year ago.

Having not lived in an apartment since my 20’s, I was worried about Oliver, my nine-year-old mini golden doodle disturbing my neighbors. I picked out a 10^th floor apartment, all the way at the end of the hallway. I had lots of time to think.