I live in a small building with little apartments each shaped the same size. There’s a girl who lives across the hall from me. I call her my female Kramer because at all hours of the day she barges into my apartment with no apparent purpose but to make her presence known.

She’s 25. I want to sleep with her. I’ve told her I want to sleep with her. She doesn’t want to sleep with me. And it’s not that she has exactly come out and said “no” but since it hasn’t happened there is a general assumption that it isn’t going to happen.

We exist in the gray area. That space that happens between two people in any relationship where one wants more and the other doesn’t but neither are willing to push for a definitive answer.

Definitve answers can’t exist between neighbors because there’s a line that can’t be crossed. A line that says if you cross it, you become the creepy neighbor who sniffs panties and steals mail. And I’m not a panty sniffer.

So in the morning I knock on her door and have her make me cappuccinos on the machine her ex-boyfriend bought her for her birthday.

And I live in the gray area.

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