My grandma lives on the 4th floor of a building in Sector 6. It's morning. Bustling pathways. A man sings from the church. Bread costs un leu and it's so hot you can't hold it in your arms as you rush through the streets. Children ride bicycles. "Repede! Repede!" Past the man with the American cigarette on his lips.
So I walk up 4 flights of stairs. As I'm walking up, my mind goes elsewhere. I'm gone. And I begin to breathe heavy. Slower. Slower. I've never felt this tired climbing only 4 flights of stairs. Out of breath, I find myself on the 10th floor and I realize-
I was thinking of you.