Tripping

Walking in through the front entrance, instead of the usual sidedoor, after my blind date, still a little tipsy. There’s a steep set of six or seven tall steps that lead up to the first level, the main staircase is across the lobby. My apartment is on the basement level, so I’m going up and then down. I jog up the marble steps, misjudge the third or forth, and trip forward, catching myself with hands on the top step. Just as I’m tripping, an upstairs neighbor emerges silently from downstairs, gives me a maybe-bemused, maybe-irritated, “Hello Jeffrey.” I recover my footing and return his hello. He reaches the lobby and turns to head up the next flight. He’s out of sight before I’ve crossed the lobby to head down the main staircase.

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