As I entered the double front door of my apartment building on a rainy Saturday, I was thinking only of escaping the torrential winds of New York. I trudged squeaky boots up what always feels like a million stairs before taking note of an apartment I had not noticed before. Apartment 12A. I craned my head around the stairwell to check on the apartments above and below – 12 and 14. In a move typical of apartment buildings and hotels alike, the number 13 had been skipped. This small detail stirred a bit of wonderment within me. When did 13 become an unlucky number?