Woman on the Balcony

I got nothing today, except drinking cold beer out of a teacup in the hopes that it lasts longer, on my balcony, and also in the hopes that I won’t look too much the beer-bum to my several hundred neighbours whose balconies have a view of mine (then again, I have a view of theirs so…), but really more concerned about whether any of them (from their balconies or from within their units, which is really the ideal place to spy, I should know…) can tell that I am not wearing a bra underneath my too light pink t-shirt that should have changed careers to cleaning rag long ago, and not so much whether they can tell that I’m not…supported so much as what they’ll think of the…angle of my boobs at this particular moment in the evolution of my body, and now of course I’ve given you a mental image that you may or may not have been willing to receive but while you’re at it consider that it’d be a shame to strap myself up in the comfort and semi-privacy of my own home but also to not enjoy my own damn oversized balcony but also to not enjoy my balcony on this specific day when I gave it its first deep clean of the season, washing away surprised once-pregnant spiders along with my own overlong covid hairs and stray flowers and leaves and untold tons of dust, all of which I did in the early early hours when the neighbour beneath me (one of the few who’ll never see me being semi-casual on my balcony and vice versa) is least likely to be out on their balcony and therefore unlikely to get pissed by the runoff of the soapy water I used to wash my balcony windows and railings, an unfortunate byproduct of you getting (your balcony) clean is someone below you has to get dirtier kind of like that horrifying Spanish movie where people have to live on different floors and every day a feast is lowered on a platform from the top floor and this platform laden with a feast is lowered one floor at a time but it will only go down when the people on a given floor feel satisfied so as you can imagine by the time it reaches the bottom level it’s disgusting and vile oh wait no it’s completely empty, as it would be because your standards drop to the degree that your hunger is severe, and perhaps that means you care about the upstairs balcony washing water runoff hitting your balcony only to the degree that yours is clean and by the fact that I’ve not been cussed out in a south-to-North direction nor found a nasty note on my door nor received notice from management I can only assume that my neighbour below has either quite a dirty balcony or DGAF or the unit is vacant, except it’s not vacant and the reason I know this is because I stay informed about which units in my building are currently on the market as it’s a neat way of 👀 other peoples’ homes in a completely legitimate manner and it contributes to my store of real estate knowledge and now all the ice in my beer bucket has melted so I must end this exercise in how long can I keep a sentence going on a very uneventful Sunday but leave you with an image to replace the one of me braless in a ratty faded pink t-shirt (I hear it’s good for search results, an image I mean, just not the mental ones) and if you want to know the name of that horrifying nauseating shame-in-humanity-inducing Spanish movie just ask.

Steamwhistle:
a Canadian(?) favourite.

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