Veronica has the best apartment in town. It’s on the third story and has big plate glass windows that look straight down on the town common. She has a bird’s eye view of all the protestors, the fairs, the lovers, people eating lunch on park benches; in general, the life-blood of the town. The more Veronica watched all these little dramas, the less desire she had to actually go out and be one herself. I called her from time to time, but her conversation consisted of her descriptions of what was going on in the common. “Now he’s kissing her and saying good-bye. He’s getting on the bus. The bus is pulling out. Wait a minute, she’s just joined hands with another guy. I can’t believe it! These people are behaving like trash. There’s a real tiny old lady with a walker trying to go into the bookstore, but she keeps stopping and looking over her shoulder. She thinks she’s being followed.” “Veronica,” I say, “I’m dying.” “Two of the richest and nastiest lawyers in town are arguing over by the drinking fountain. They’re actually shouting, I can almost hear them. Oh my god, one of them has shoved the other. It’s incredible, Artie. You should be here,” she says. “War has been declared with England, Veronica. Have you heard that?” I say. “That’s great, Artie,” she says. “Remember the girl who kissed the guy getting on the bus and then immediately took up with the other guy? Well, now she’s flirting with the parking officer and he’s loving it and flirting back with her. He just tore up a ticket he had written for her. I’m really beginning to like this girl after all.” “That’s great Veronica,” I say. “Why don’t you check and see if your little panties are on fire yet,” and I hang up, and I don’t think she even notices. I wonder if I’m supposed to be worried about her. But in the end I don’t. Veronica has the best apartment in town.