Upstairs

There are a husband, wife, and daughter who live in the main part of my house. (Or, more accurately, I live in the little basement part of their house.) I haven't seen the wife much apart from the time or two I've noticed her peeking out from between her curtains as I was moving stuff into my new place. And I only see the daughter when I come bearing large wads of cash. The husband, however, seems to be much more social.

The first time I saw him he was smoking a cigarette at the top of the stairs which lead to his door. He speaks very little English, and as far as I know it might be limited to "good morning." The next morning I saw him doing stretches halfway down the stairs. (Half way down the stairs is the stair where I stretch. There isn't any other stair quite like Fletch.) And tonight when I was making sure my car fit in the parking spot I had chosen, he trotted enthusiastically down the stairs in his pajama pants and undershirt to guide me toward parking perfection.

When I finally move my coffee table and TV in he'll probably leap out of his front door to help me carry them in. Then I’ll have to figure out how to say thank you in Chinese.