The Virtues of Paranoid Schizophrenia

Pretty Lady has been wont to note that lately, she has been hearing voices, or rather one voice in particular, conversing outside her kitchen window. She is, thankfully, not the only person to notice; one of her clients found this manifestation rather disturbing, since her apartment is on the fourth floor. But sound, in the City, does tricky things when confronted with verticalities of masonry on all sides, and Pretty Lady finds that sound, like heat, rises.

Upon looking out her kitchen window, Pretty Lady observes that the next-door neighbor has been standing in the backyard, in the snow, since very early morning, having a conversation at the top of his lungs with an entity which is not visible to Pretty Lady. She is pleased to report that the neighbor and his invisible friend appear to be getting along rather well, today; the conversation seems amiable, even jocular, and is only moderately punctuated with obscenities. This is a mercy, since according to other next-door neighbors, this man suffers from a heavy-duty case of Tourette's syndrome, and his non-stop monologues are generally of a more hostile nature.

Mental illness is indeed a sad, sad thing. On the other hand, this neighbor never seems to get cold, and he is never lonely.