Failing to Hope the Best in My Neighbours
You really didn’t have to do this,” John, my downstairs neighbor assures me. “It’s very generous of you, thank you.” Later he tells me the homemade pizza I handed him was delicious—the best crust he’s tasted. A simple, grateful compliment has never made me feel more ashamed. But to me it wasn’t even a pizza. It was a bribe.
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