Apartment

Sunday, May 1, 2005

Nine balloons swayed in the wind outside the apartment complex, colored as follows: bottom three yellow, top three orange, middle three green. Sam was apartment hunting, and he knew what those balloons meant. Vacancy. He opened the front door and followed the signs to the leasing office. The doorman nodded but didn’t question or stop him. He opened the leasing door.

“Your eyes sure are bright,” a girl said before he stepped into the office.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes, they sure are bright. You must be looking for an apartment.” The girl was short and freckled, not a day over twenty, if Sam knew girls, and he did, or at least claimed to at every opportunity. Her pigtailed hair whipped back and forth across her neck as she spoke.

“Yup, bushy eyed and bright tailed,” Sam said and swallowed, unspoken, his sarcastic comment about psychics foretelling the today’s weather.

“I never said anything about tails, but, anyways, welcome to Twilight Apartments, future resident. My name is Denise, and I’ll be your brainwasher . . . I mean saleswoman for the day.”

Sam groaned silently. She’s one of those types. He reached out and grabbed the apartment literature, pulled out his sawed-off shotgun, and shot Denise.

(Yeah, I know. Pathetic—what else was I to do when I ran out of ideas?)