He is already on the street when I buzz him in.
Not late. Not early in the way of someone making a point. Exactly eight a.m., standing outside my building in a dark coat with his hands in his pockets looking like a man who has been exactly where he means to be his entire life.
I watch him from the window for three seconds before I press the buzzer. Then I go put the kettle on and tell myself this is a business meeting.
I have had harder business meetings. I have sat across from creditors who wanted things I could not give them and vendors who needed reassurance I did not feel and I held my ground every single time. This is no different.
He knocks twice. I open the door.
He looks at my apartment the way he looks at everything not obviously, not slowly, just a single take that misses no
