CLOSED-CIRCUIT CHA-CHA
Unbeknownst to us, the building caretaker couple was in the office on Saturday morning when we, the Killer and I, happened to be in the laundry room and so, because the building’s common areas are all wired with closed-circuit cameras that play on grainy black-and-white monitors in the office, they were treated to the magical sight of us gracefully practicing the cha-cha while we waited for the washing machine to finish its load. We were gliding like Fred and Ginger from the washers to the dryers, brushing up our chops on the latest moves from our Thursday night dance class. They were watching, gasping, crying; doubled over with laughter.
