3 I 2022
The staircase is silent. Few people seem to be living here permanently and if they do, they seldom exit. At the fifth landing, after five stairs, KS has deposited a wooden chair with a straw seat.
For some reason this has stimulated another inhabitant to put a green plastic armchair on the floor above. He is a painter and his studio is separate, above our front-door. But he seems infrequently busy there. Since days a basket with materials has been standing on his doorstep.
The chair KS provided was for me to recover my breath after five stairs. When going up I rest there and he will bend over me and softly kiss my head.
As I grew accustomed to the effort, the length of ascending the stairs seemed to diminish. On the other hand the descent seemed to take more time – possibly because I became more cautious in finding the steps after having stumbled a few times with my rubber Issey Miyake shoes.
I grip the banister, which seems to have been in use for a century and will have to wash my hands afterwards because of the chance of contagion with the virus.
We noticed the banister was loose beneath the first floor and had been steadied with an iron hook.
Once downstairs we enter into the habitual corridor towards the street and backwards towards the interior courtyard.
On the last two floors bicycles indicate human occupation.