As my many legions of fans know, I love my building. I can't really blame this one on the building, though; it was just life, in the form of a fire alarm. At about 12:15 a.m., to be precise, and the bell has only just stopped ringing even though the firefighters have been gone for close to half an hour and everyone has gone back to their apartments.

Woken, though not quite from a sound sleep (shoulda been in bed at least an hour earlier), I followed the ironclad rule of fire alarms and got dressed and went downstairs immediately. Two steps ahead of me in the stairwell (the other ironclad rule, of course, is stay the hell out of the elevator) is an upstairs neighbour I had never met before. I'm sure we've never met because I know I would have remembered; I was just sufficiently awake by this point to notice that not only is she stunningly attractive, while also cradling an almost equally attractive cat, but coatless as well and arousing my protective manly instincts. Unfortunately this is as much presence of mind as I'm able to muster, so as we join the growing throng of tenants filing out the front door to cool our heels in the freezing February night, the occasion has slipped by almost before I realize what is going on. I'm left looking on wistfully under the strobing red and white emergency lights as she forms a brief, but perceptibly promising, bond with another fellow tenant who:

(a) is clearly closer to her in age;
(b) has a full head of close-cropped hair and ruggedly handsome features; and
(c) is, I'm not making this up, cradling in his own arms a conversation-starting puppy.

Damn. Gotta get me one of those. Who plans on being an extra in someone else's meet-cute? (Oh, and the drunk knucklehead from a week or two back was there as well. Sober as far as I could tell.)