I live in two rooms on the third floor of
a brownstone in Brooklyn. As I have no doorman, and
my parsimonious landlord pretends that there is no intercom system
because it would ruin the design of the nineteenth-century front
hall, it is impossible to control what my landlord calls
the ingresses and egresses of the house. There are two
doors to the house, one opening into the entrance hall,
the second interior door leading to the stairs. I know
that it is not a very safe system, just pushing
the buzzer and allowing whoever has rung downstairs to enter.
Paraphrases from the novel In the Cut by Susanna Moore.