She got here before I did, but no one ever told her (or me!) what our apartment number was or even what floor it was on! Whitney even asked the driver and searched around for a tag on our keys (which, by the way, are the LARGEST keys I have ever seen), but there was nothing. Whitney had to just... try the key in every door until one opened. So, here she is, this newly immigrated American girl jamming her key in the doors of our new Greek neighbors praying that no one walks out just as she is attempting entry and bludgeons her with a leg of lamb.
We live on the first floor, turns out.
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