Photo: FJ Martinez

Finalist in Tartts First Fiction Award 2023. Printed in “Tartts Nine, Incisive Fiction from Emerging Writers Anthology,” August 2023.

The two kids ­­– excuse me – young adults, who’d peeked into the half-open door of my loft appeared to be barely out of their teens, oozing with energy, confidence, and optimism. 

“You’re, Max, right?” the girl asked.

“So, who might you be?” I did my best to sound like a pirate, the Long John Silver of DUMBO, though I had both legs and no immediate plans for a parrot. Word in the building was I had great carpentry skills when I cared to use them which is why, most likely, these two visitors had dropped by. 

“I’m Ben. This is Celeste,” said the scrawny guy.

Though in my early forties I knew I looked older and felt older than most of the tenants in the building. Frankly, I was a little beaten up by life, visibly overweight with eyelids hovering halfway up or down like I might be tired, bored, or drunk, but I was just lazy. 

“We leased the second-floor loft in the back on the concrete side of the building and moved in a couple of weeks ago.” 

I gave them one of those over the eyeglasses stare downs like my dad used to give me when I interrupted him reading his paper. I saw right away they were confused with why I might be annoyed with them. After all, we’d never actually met. I purposely didn’t appear friendly, showing no smile or twitch of my mustache above my black full beard. I was inscrutable.