The two girls sit chatting together.
They often compare their individual lives, despite both living in the same neighbourhood.
One says, “Do you have a door attendant at your place?”
“No.”
“Thought not. We don’t have one either.”
“Why?”
“Oh! I don’t know. It would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
“Suppose so.”
“Think about it. These guys, they’re usually guys, they’re ready to open the door for you. It’s really nice. They see you coming and they open the door and stand back. If somebody wants to go in they are there, waiting. In the cities, they wear fancy coats with gold stuff on the shoulders. They’re called a concierge there. Not that I’m saying that for us. Just somebody waiting there, you know?”
Her friend said, “You always were a dreamer. That ain’t going to happen.”
“No. You’re right, but it would be nice.” Her whiskers twitch into a smile.