A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
“We’re nearly there.”
He drove carefully.
I watched each traffic light as if it were doing something personally cruel.
The elevator in our building was out of service again.
I climbed the three flights with my overnight bag knocking against my knee.
Frank was beside the trash chute on my floor, holding a tied bag of vegetable peelings.
“You’re back early,” he said.
“Did you see anyone near my door?”