Killer B

My upstairs neighbor is such a delight. Beautiful, charming, wounded, hilarious, she’s been an anchor during tumultuous times. First, when I was working like a nut. Actually, we met watching The Walking Dead. Well, my partner was watching the dead walk. I was avoiding actually looking at the screen. B & I chatted, as she was there to watch with her then boyfriend. Nuff said about him. At any rate, she and I made fast friends, figured out that we live in the same building and made each other laugh.

Over the past couple of years we have accompanied each other to the bar probably a few too many times. We’ve laughed so hard, at ourselves and at the world. We’ve cried on each others’ shoulders, worried about each other, been annoyed with each other. But it always comes back to the two of us looking out for each other, making it better how so ever we can, and laughing. We’ve formed a secret society, sort of, called “truth on the roof.” We sit on our roof deck (it’s really just the roof), tell each other truths, make each other laugh, get ridiculous. It’s fun. We have each others’ backs. That’s how we roll.


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