neighbo(u)rs

Jill writes about neighbo(u)rs and how she wishes they would bake her cakes. But these neighbourships (is that the word?) are a tricky thing. There are places where there is no escape from the madwoman forcing her coffee and cake on you, places where you sneak up the staircase in order not to be discovered by them, places where you do not dare to borrow things, because whatever container you lent came back full with un(b)eatable food. And then there are these ironic twists. The last apartment I moved into was one of nine in the house. I decided to come forward and introduced myself briefly to everyone I met in the staircase during the first week. With mostly positive reactions. Except for one. He told me that he preferred to be left alone. This was the only one who during all the years I lived there would salute me with my name on every single occasion he met me. Neighbours are an absolutely unpredictable hazard. Do not even dare to think about their cakes.