city living

I had a reminder of city living this morning.

My roommate had texted me at 2:15 a.m. last night: “Erin, r u home?” I was not and didn’t hear her text. I didn’t get it until I read her email early this morning when I was at work.

Last night, she heard a loud sound on the roof like pounding footsteps and then a vase filled with small seashells above her toilet in her bathroom fell and crashed and broke on the linoleum tiles. The vase had been there for three to four years undisturbed. The door to the roof is directly above her bathroom, so if there was a vibration (i.e. someone shaking the door), it may have caused the vase to fall.

She heard the pounding a few more times, until about 3 a.m., and then two hours later loud sirens woke her up again. The cops stopped on our street a few doors down, but she couldn’t see what they were doing.

Our house is part of a row house, so the rooftops are easy to scale.

It freaked her out, understandably, but our apartment is undisturbed (she says) and the padlock to the roof door is secure (no worries, mom and dad).

It’s just another reminder to be ever cautious living in a city.

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