The foreigners in my block live in a past country; they use their storage cellar as a wine cellar. Seriously. I was just taking the duvet cover out of the machine, trusting it would have cleaned off the cat vomit. I knew there was someone else down in the cellar as the lift had whirred and the lights were on. The demin blue cotton flopped out of the machine umbilically as a man behind me said "Tag," and walked out with one bottle of red wine in his hand.
There is a wine bottle prison in my cellar and I'm wondering, wondering. I wonder some more about someone who could incarcerate their wine below stairs like that, mine is always to hand, there are ten bottles less than 2m away as I type away at the kitchen table. What must it be like to treat wine as such a special thing, a treat, where a journey with a special key is needed to retrieve the treasure? Of course I wondered if some of the keys in the block were duplicates and if I could find my way in there?
I know then that I am the criminal foreigner.