All of this almost blew by me. Because I was too busy hiding in my work, from the warm cocoon of my desk. I’d almost missed Sebastien knocking at my apartment door at 3am. And I knew better than to answer the door that late at night. Which, I guess, is why I’m now sitting on my stoop, watching him shovel food into his mouth, his cigarette ashing itself on the cold breeze coming in, while he spouts some words trying to better explain why he’s here tonight, now connecting me to my past.
Bastien is eating all of the food I was going to throw away. Well, food I thought I was going to throw away. I mean, because, I rarely let food get expired. Usually, I’m waiting until the last possible moment before throwing food away. Here, I just knew I wasn’t going to eat it myself, and feeding a hungry stranger felt like a very convenient opportunity.
He’s thin in the waist and slim in the neck, and I watch food spill out as his gravelly voice stitches together the denouement of his enlightening story, “So after… the police showed up… we ended up… just sleeping underneath park benches… while we were… trying to… find… our next party to crash.” Wine sloshes out of his wine glass onto the concrete stoop. Only me and the moon observing his slovenly ways.
I stare through the wrought-iron fencing at my neighbor’s roof. Its nightly outline perfectly traced across the dark, empty…
