Above the Clouds of Pompeii
Kaspars Eglitis - Unsplash There’s a woman who lives in the building across from mine, on the third floor. Her windows are almost always open, and it’s like little pieces of her life drift out, which I just sort of… collect. I don’t know her name or anything about her past. I don’t know if she’s into Chinese food, rom-coms, or if she sleeps with socks on in winter. I have no idea if she’s ever seen the volcano above Pompeii. But I do know she lives alone. Every Friday and Saturday night, like clockwork, I see her leave her apartment, always looking polished, as if the world outside is just waiting for her. She takes her time, walking slowly but with purpose, and then disappears down the street. I don’t know where she goes, but in my head, I’ve decided it’s a little hidden salsa club. It has to be salsa because that lively, energetic rhythm matches the kind of energy she gives off. I can picture her feet, worn from the years, gliding effortlessly across a dance floor, just flowing wit
