As I walked into Spot's room, I made the decision to sit in front of the recently closed door. I was beginning to miss him. He was gone all the time it seemed, at least when I was here. I wished I could find some time to talk with him, but he never seemed to have any spare time, and when he did, he tried to avoid me. It was hard, because he never visited my room to see how I was doing anymore, not since after the doctor reset my foot and I almost weaseled the origin of his nickname out of him.

The hardwood floor was covered with a small rug that didn't match anything in the room, despite the room being composed of neutral colors. Against one wall was a desk, covered in papers such as poorly spelled letters from other boroughs leaders, or hastily scrawled notes from the birds. The opposite wall had a dresser against it; drawers open haphazardly with pants, shirts and suspenders hanging out of them. His cane was leaning on his dresser, which was odd considering he never left without it. Maybe he hadn't taken it because he needed to look un-intimidating for some reason. Glancing around, I didn't see his slingshot. Must have taken it for protection. The slingshot was probably easier to hide. I sincerely hoped he wasn't out avenging my scuffle with Cheat and his two main thugs.

On the far wall was a window, partially open, one curtain pushed to the side, the other ruffling in the slight breeze. Beneath the window was his bed, covers somewhat wrinkled, as if stepped on to get to the fire escape. At the foot of the bed lay a trunk. It was probably stuffed with mementos that he'd taken from his house after the blizzard of '88 that had taken his parents and left him to fend for himself as a street rat. I was betting there were also letters from me that I'd written him during the short period that I was afraid to tell him my feelings, and other like items.

The floor was pockmarked and warped with age. The wall just to the right and a little above me was dented from Spot using it as target practice. Despite the chilliness of the room, it was quite cozy. I pushed myself off the floor and hobbled over to the desk, wincing as I jarred my ribs a little as I lowered myself onto the chair. Grabbing a piece of his drawing lead and finding a scrap of paper, I wrote a note to him, describing what I had just mulled over, and that I was only teasing him with trying to find out his nickname. Wiping my smudged fingers on my pants to clean them, I slowly made it over to the bed, where I picked up his pillow and smelled it, hugging his pillow to me for a moment. I set it back down and placed the message on top of it and walked out, looking back at the empty room once, then finally closing the door, hoping the letter would make a difference once he found it.