I was sitting on the balcony for just a few minutes and my jeans absorbed so much heat from the shining sun that it hurt.

Balcony-sitting was really an alias for all of us spying on all the new folk moving in. There are at least four, and it'll be so interesting to get to know them a bit over rooming meeting tomorrow. The back fridges, all six doors of 'em, are stark raving empty. The cutting boards are, for once, unstained by tomato juices and unlittered with bread crumbs. Also: look, Ma, no flies!

Yet.