No, that's probably not it. My super is probably just supernaturally nice. He has fed me on Sunday twice in a row. Last weekend he bought me a cranberry muffin, which was the sweetest gesture ever, if not the sweetest muffin ('sup with cranberries? why do people eat them? They're so tart they almost taste angry).
Today he brought me a toasty thing from a street fair a couple of blocks away. It was cornbready and cheesy and still hot. And he is officially my favorite human of the day. I don't know what that thing was, which is a good thing, because if I could ask unsavory characters for it on street corners, that would now be my sole pursuit in life. As it is, I can plead ignorance and narrowly escape total addiction.
And no, he didn't tell me what it was. Probably because at nearly 6 p.m. I'm still in my pajamas, so he just handed it through the door and said, "Try this. It's from the fair" and then retreated to his apartment. (What? Why should I change into jeans and put on my face and everything just to haul boxes around my apartment? It's silly.)
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2 comments:
I think he likes you, Katy.
Trust me, that's not it.
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