I have lived on the fourth floor of 247 Atlantic Avenue for forty years, and in forty years I have learned that the most interesting people in a building are the ones you never notice.
My name is Eleanor Higgins. I am seventy-two years old. I am a widow. My husband, Robert, died twelve years ago, and when he died, he took most of the interesting things he knew with him, and I was left with a view from my window and a journal and a cat named Poe who does not care about either of us. My window faces south, onto Atlantic Avenue, and from it I can see the ground-floor apartment...
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