Page 71 of Solo

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Friday April 7th 9:39 p.m.

D: Hey. How you doing?

K: Don’t ask.

D: That bad?

K: Worse.

D: I’m sorry.

K: Thanks.

D: Want some company?

K: You’re sweet but I’m already in my jammies.

D: You know that’s not a problem for me (insert lecherous chortle here)

K: LOL I do know! But I’m wiped. Just can’t drag my butt out again.

D: Well, if the butt won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the butt…

K: Dude, that’s just wrong.

D: No, actually, it’s absolutely right. I’m standing outside of your building.

K: Stop teasing!

D: Not teasing. And it’s freezing out here! How about buzzing me up?

K: What? No! You can’t just show up!

D: Why not? You did it to me, didn’t you?

D: K? You there?

D: What are you doing?

K: Sorry, had to get my dirty clothes off the floor.

D: Stop cleaning and let me in already!

K: Fine. I’m up on the third floor, number 304. Watch out for Clinton.

D: Clinton?

K: You’ll see.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Drew

It’s so cold that I’m hopping from foot to foot, when she finally buzzes me in. The vestibule is dark, with one of those dim, flickering fluorescent light fixtures that makes that maddening hum. The linoleum floor is yellowed and a little too sticky for my taste. And there’s a smell that I think I can place, but would rather not.

I’m just about to start my climb to the third floor when I notice one of the apartment doors open a crack. An elderly gentleman peers out at me suspiciously.