A housepainter has been working for about a week in the stairwell of my beloved’s apartment building. He will be finished in a few days. As I was walking past him on his ladder this morning, I greeted him with a few words. “I can see it’s going well,” I added cheerfully. “Well,” he looked down at me with a smile, “this is the easy part.” I stopped and looked up. “It’s the paperwork that’s killing me!” I chuckled. “I’ve worked as a housepainter in Austria and Canada,” he raised his eyebrows, “and it’s the paperwork that’s the worst thing everywhere!” I raised my arms in mock despair. “You’re right,” I chuckled again, “and it’s getting worse by the day.” If bureaucracy is making even the housepainters cross, where is its limit? The sky?