Veronica has the best
apartment in town.
It's on the third story and has big plate glass
windows that look straight down on the town common.
She has a bird's eye view of all the protestors,
the fairs, the lovers, people eating lunch on
park benches; in general, the life-blood of the
town. The more Veronica watched all these little
dramas, the less desire she had to actually go
out and be one herself. I called her from time
to time, but her conversation consisted of her
descriptions of what was going on in the common.
"Now he's kissing her and saying good-bye. He's
getting on the bus. The bus is pulling out.
Wait a minute, she's just joined hands with
another guy. I can't believe it! These people
are behaving like trash. There's a real tiny
old lady with a walker trying to go into the
bookstore, but she keeps stopping and looking
over her shoulder. She thinks she's being
followed." "Veronica," I say, "I'm dying."
"Two of the richest and nastiest lawyers in
town are arguing over by the drinking fountain.
They're actually shouting, I can almost hear
them. Oh my god, one of them has shoved the
other. It's incredible, Artie. You should be
here," she says. "War has been declared with
England, Veronica. Have you heard that?" I
say. "That's great, Artie," she says. "Remember
the girl who kissed the guy getting on the bus
and then immediately took up with the other guy?
Well, now she's flirting with the parking officer
and he's loving it and flirting back with her.
He just tore up a ticket he had written for her.
I'm really beginning to like this girl after all."
"That's great Veronica," I say. "Why don't
you check and see if your little panties are
on fire yet," and I hang up, and I don't think
she even notices. I wonder if I'm supposed to
be worried about her. But in the end I don't.
Veronica has the best apartment in town.