Neighbors

Have conversation with the Contessa about small talk. She says that sometimes if she is stuck in a tough situation she says, I'm sorry, I'm having a small attack of social anxiety. Tell her briskly that don't think that is any help at all. If tried to say phrase, would say the first part--I'm having a small attack...--and then be struck dumb. The Contessa nods, says, You have to practice. Do not care for picture of myself walking around city muttering phrase. The contessa pulls me out of this unhelpful line of thinking with question, Why did you go in the neighbor's apartment? Tell her, I was curious. I like to see other people's apartments. The Contessa says, That is fine, but he sounds a little creepy. Say, Not too creepy. She asks, Tell me what was in the apartment. Tell her, books, a ukelele, -- it is a studio, so a double bed -- a dresser, a nice looking ficus, maybe he'd converted one of the closets into a studio? The contessa leans forward, How do you know it was a studio? Tell her that it seemed that the walls were padded. She sits back in her chair, You believe what you want to believe. You are lucky you didn't get hacked to bits and get fed to Tom Cruise (the cat.) Tell her she is being ridiculous. But for rest of day terrify self with images of what might have been. Call Dave to tell him that he shouldn't ever talk to the neighbor across the hall. Dave says shocked, Of course not.