Normally, I leave such critters alone. I like bees: their roundedness, their boldness, their sound, the way they look against the purple of the backyard artichokes they are mining for pollen.
But one floor up, in an office that looks over cars and asphalt and has no real opening to the outside world, this bee is out of place and threatening.
I cannot gently hustle him out. I fear it is about to end badly for one of us.
And it has.