Every morning, the woman who lived in apartment Nineteen B would be in the lobby, checking through her purse, making sure she had everything, I could only assume. She would finish as I approached the front door, and be behind me as I buzzed it open. But then as I would go through the door, she would buzz it again, as if it might lock again.
This went on for months, and eventually I wanted to prove a point. So I waited, let her buzz, and then followed her out before the door closed.
And emerged somewhere different than usual.
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