Yesterday, I was riding up in an elevator from this building's swimming pool. As the doors opened, I was politely greeted by Mr. Burns. Actually, his name isn't Mr. Burns. He's a very old Chinese guy living on the floor above. I simply refer to him as Mr. Burns. I do this as he closely resembles that namesake from the Simpsons. We bought this apartment coming up on eight years ago. Mr. Burns has lived here since we arrived; yet, I don't know his real name or much else about him. I have the idea he might not know a lot of English. Is this just a comforting excuse for not speaking more?
Urban living differs from small-town life. It is strange how little one has to know about neighbours that, quite literally, may live a few meters away. People's schedules differ, I suppose A yearly owners meeting isn't really the best time to divulge intimate details. Even special building functions, like the yearly barbecue, do not lead to much mingling. It's okay, as we might not have much in common with the others. Perhaps our most common similarity is our postal address.