I was brushing my teeth when he walked into the apartment.

I'm kind of a stickler about teeth, been caught with one in my back pocket like a paint brush, which isn't as bad as my dad but anyway.... In the shadows of the entrance I couldn't see his face but he didn't seem familiar. Couldn't recognize him, that's what I'm trying to say. But the bathroom light is bright and I just stood there with white foam around my face. When he turned back toward the door I dug into my pocket and tossed him the key to get out. I'm weird like that, but sometimes I'd just rather eat cabbage. He paused after opening the door a foot, then put the key on the ledge there. I wasn't worried, I knew he would- stealing a doorkey isn't something to even joke about.

I could tell from the faint violet scent, like pastilles, that he'd be back. Or maybe it was the bottle of first press absinthe he left next to the keys. But I knew it wouldn't be that night, because I'll be darned if he didn't step into the next apartment over. That's what I tend to guess, though- the neighbor must check for guests as often as I expect them. And I did have needle and thread in my hand the next day, when he came back.

This time I was even more disarrayed than I had been. I took this as a sign from the Universe that the general state of myself had begun to decline. I can't say that I wanted to go to my sister at that point. I can't say that I wanted to, but in some distant memory I sensed an unfinished project between us. Something left behind, misplaced, lost.... maybe not even started yet.