THIS IS OUR HOME

‘Look at that,’ she said to the caretaker’d got in the lift with us.
‘What is it? it looks like glue,’ the caretaker said as the four of us looked to where the woman pointed at the caramel coloured stuff on the window in front of the camera.
‘It’s all over the front doors on my floor, and on the floor,’ I said, ‘did it on Saturday, I reckon’s when.’
‘Mind the spit, too,’ said the woman pointing at the corner the caretaker stood.
The caretaker got out halfway up.
‘I’d get in trouble if I found out who it was did it,’ said the woman.
‘I’d want to make them lick it off,’ I said.
‘Me too,’ she said and laughed, ‘I don’t understand why someone wants to do something like it really, I just don’t get it, you know?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I don’t get it either.’
She held out her hand I shook it and we introduced ourselves and where we lived in the block.
‘And this is my friend,’ she said of the other woman.
‘I’m going to use the stairs on the way down,’ her friend said.
‘Aaargh,’ said the woman, ‘this is our home.’