Meet Sam.

Today I took possession of my new place. Although I won't actually move in until my belongings arrive on Tuesday, I had arranged for the cable guy to hook me up.

Sam, the landlord, was waiting with the keys. He's an older Jewish man who looks and sounds rather like Mel Brooks when he plays, well, an older Jewish man.

He's the kind of guy that wants to trust you. You can see it. But he needs time. He's got that genetic condition that seems to impact almost all Jews, including me. It's the DNA ingrained expectation that given any situation, the worst possible outcome is also the most likely. And so, until he knows  he can trust me, he'll remain a little stand-offish. Warm, but arm's length warm. And yet, glimpses of the softer, kinder man are always there near the surface. "Just don't do anytink vit the cables on da outsite of da buildink until you check vit me foist ok?...And drive carefully!"

With the cable installed I lingered a little. So this is it, I thought. The beginning. Of something. I just don't quite know what that something is.