Nothing unusual. Just a fight across the street, but that's it.

I make it a priority to come home immediately. Me thinking of a guy I bump into isn't part of my interest and I am comfortable that way. I'm pretty sure that guy isn't even my type though and in his view, I'm much lower than he is, and that is not regarding age. Given my situation, I have no time for love for guys. Even though my look says it, my mind says no.

In high school, I was a popular girl. I was in a circle of friends which everybody was attractive. But with my nature, a lazy, carefree attitude, I was the only one in the circle who didn't have a boyfriend. When it came down to graduation, the bond between me and my friends would become shatter once they left home to study elsewhere. I still have that lazy, carefree nature, thinking that commitment is a big price to pay so I just live off of my parents. Pathetic, I know.

At least, I have good motor skills but I don't put them to good use. Being carefree, I've learned not to care for others and for only myself. Even though I live with my parents, I don't think of being loved in that household and I don't think it would make a difference doing my part as a lifeline. I'm probably just an object to them, since their morals and their personality changed two years ago.

Caring for myself, I have only known to survive, and live on. Walking is pretty much what I do and what I'm good at. Getting home is easy, navigating through both vehicle and human traffic and staying focused on my path ahead. I have no cares for this world that I live in. None at all.

Nearing the apartment building where my home is located, it is easy for me to dart straight to it. But not today. On a corner, the stoop of the apartment building faces the three-way intersection. It looks as dilapidated as the next building and it perfectly blends in with its surroundings. These days, it's perfectly normal to walk into the wrong building and get lost.

The vehicle traffic here is not as bad as blocks away, where sometimes it become like stopped gridlock on the highway. It normal for people to J-walk across the intersection with a care of being hit by a car or bus. I walk diagonally across the intersection to the stoop, which faces directly at me.

As I near the stoop a loud insulting scream is heard from across the street. A loud banging of a front door is heard seconds after. The incident alerts everybody on the street, including the kids playing in the street and the milkman doing his deliveries. The event, only lasting a few seconds or so, become like a Broadway show. I can see the whole scene darken like the lights dimming before the show and a spotlight shining on the main characters.

I turn my head to the right, focusing on the apartment building thirty feet away. A woman, who looks like she might be the same age as me, walks out of the front door across the street furious at someone elsewhere. She walks in a frightening determination. For a second, I recognize her as my friend from high school but that's too soon to tell. I can see that she is wearing some very expensive clothes. I can guess that her leather high-heel boots are at least worth a couple hundred bucks. The fur trenchcoat seems to be high-quality and worth at least a grand amount. As she continues walking, I recognize her as one of my popular friend from high school. He name seems to leave me, but I remember her being rich and flirtatious. I guess the incident that happen seconds before was something about money or love, or both, pertaining to her personality and lifestyle.

The person she argued with walks out the door, slams it and hollers at her from atop the stoop. The man standing is wearing a black wife beater and sagging, black denim jeans. Hanging from his neck is a silver chain with a large medallion hanging from it. Obviously the man is black from the way he dresses and the way that he hollers at the woman down the street. The situation ends seconds later when the woman turns a corner and disappears from view as well as the black man on the stoop, disappearing into the apartment. The street reverts back to its previous state, people continuing to walk down the sidewalk and people on fire escape averting their eyes back to their own business. I too turn to face the door, green as a fresh cucumber, and walk up the steps to get to it. I open the door and I enter the lobby.

I've lived in this apartment building most of my life, since I was 6 years old, and I practically know everyone here. There are six floors in this apartment, which in this case is quite unusual for an apartment. Most top out around three floors, giving my apartment the title of the the highest apartment building in the neighborhood. Also, the neighborhood in which the building sits is in a dense residential area. To give you a sense of how big the area is and how far I have to walk to school, my home is sixteen blocks from downtown, where the residential and commerical districts meet. That is roughly four miles from downtown. My college is a further eight blocks, summing the distance at roughly six miles.

It's tiring without a car but it's good exercise. Actually most people walk in these parts. You could say that it's hard to find parking knowing that cars line the sidewalks. The people who can afford cars drive and those who can't walk. Most people walk giving this neighborhood descriptions of bustling, busy, chaotic, and other adjectives. I don't mind walking by the way.

Once I enter the lobby, I am always relieved. It doesn't matter if I walk six miles or sixty miles. Once I enter the building in which I live, I am satisfied. I call the first floor the lobby because I want to call it the lobby. No other reason. Well maybe it's because our landlord, nice lady as she is, lives on the first floor. Three other tenants live on this floor. That makes four 25 by 22 foot apartments on this floor plus the long hallway in between. Two tenants on one side and two on the other.

Our landlord, we call her Miss Sake, mainly because she's Japanese and she love rice wine. She lives with her husband, but to this day I have never seen him out. A few feet away is the front door of the neighbor who lives across from Miss Sake. The tenant who lives here, Joey, lives by himself. He's Italian and is very kind to everybody. He is also very handsome as well. He talks to Miss Sake alot, to the point where he is so annoying as he stands outside her door every morning, constantly talking until Miss Sake leaves for the day. Their doors are closed due to Joey being out preferably in downtown trying to get a special roommate.

The doors down the hall stay closed but I know the people living behind them very well. The tenant living next door to Joey goes to the same college as me but she is more refined. Being two years older than me, Charlene is more mature and can commit to things better than I can. She works as a nurse and is taking difficult nursing classes at the college. She isn't very socialable, at least to me. She leaves early in the morning and get back home late at night. Across from her apartment lives a young family. They are the Kendall family, a black family that moved in ten years ago. Robert, his wife Monique, and their little girl Danielle make their home here. Robert, a professer at the college, and Monique, a schoolteacher, are very supportive of their daughter, always coming home on time for dinner. Oh how I wish I was in their world or their family, my family.

Continuing on, at the end of the hallway is a door leading to the bathrooms and the laundry room, which is the most popular room in the building. It's the place everybody goes and tenants from the top floor meet tenants from the lower floors. Across from this door is the staircases which leads upstairs. I make my way down the hallway to the stairs and quickly climb up, past the second and third floors, until I finally get to the fourth floor. Being that this is my home floor, I know all tenants here as well but I know them more personally than the other floors.

From my position this floor is like the first floor, but without a front door leading outside. My apartment is the second door on the right. The first door on the right is our neighbor Mr. Gonzalez. He works at the local grocery store from where I got the fermented shrimp, tomatoes, and soy sauce. He works with Mr. Suzuki who lives with his wife in the apartment across from him. In the mornings they are out in the hallway talking endlessly to each other, with their doors open too. From one door play loud Mexicana music and from the other plays low-volume Japanese Pop. This is because Mr. Suzuki has an 18-year-old daughter who loves the J-Pop bands and artists.

Next door to Mr. Suzuki lies a very quiet apartment. This apartment belongs to my very best friend Brian. He is like a big brother to me, being very concerned with what I do. I used to see him everyday outside of the apartment, ready to leave for work. This was four years ago. When I turned 18, Brian and I would walk together. I would walk with him until I got to the college, where he passes to get to work. I am unsure where he works but he is the only one in the whole building who pays his rent before it's due. He lives alone because he had a big fight with his girlfriend, who was living with him at the time, and plus they had a little boy to take care of. He isn't home right now because two weeks before, he received a call from family and friends that his girlfriend and the little boy got into a car accident. He greived for them and committed to fly to the funeral. It's been a month now, and he hasn't been back since. I wonder where he is right now.

I stare at the vase of flowers, which is empty of water and the petals falling off, sitting near the 'Welcome' mat on the hallway floor. I put those there two weeks ago. I stare and stare, unaware of the time. The thing that get my attention is unusual but the smell of chicken displayed on a plate with rice and some other entree comes out of the cracks between the door and the door frame. I turn my head to the door, which I am standing directly in front of. I fumble with the keys that I dig out of the backpack pocket and find the one designated for the door. I insert it into the keyhole and turn it clockwise until I feel and hear a slight click. I am sure that Mother and Father inside had been alert of my presence.