There’s something going on in the apartment buildings. Another mad obsession. But really. Every city hallway or lobby looked EXACTLY the same – a kind of Fifties gloom with a glass frontage, wood panelled walls, a porter’s desk with nothing on it and no-one behind it and a polished yucca or cactus plant by the door. Like a David Hockney etching. I never saw a soul in any of them – not entering nor leaving nor chatting convivially with the neighbours. I started to think, behind the cool order, were secret affairs raging, men in macs and trilby hats and women discreetly groomed and families at war and lonely widows and bearded men writing obscure theses. I wanted to live in one.
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