Don The Degenerate Doorman: Apartment 6B The Tipsy Fashionista
It wasn’t the first time that Wednesday night that I stood and stretched my tired body to help prevent my muscles from cramping up on me. It was a quarter to eleven and my double shift was mercifully drawing to a close. Ivan, the regular doorman during the three to eleven shift had needed to take a few days off and as was often the case in the building some of us had filled the breach with me taking this particular shift. Stan, the doorman who’d be relieving me to work the graveyard shift had already arrived and was in the locker room changing into his uniform. Stifling a yawn I headed outside to get a sniff of the pleasant spring air. It was a relatively quiet night in the heart of Manhattan and in …
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