I parked down the street from Ed Walters apartment. I popped the trunk of my car. I got out and walked to the back and searched through all the junk, trying to find a wooden piece you stir paint with. (I had previously repainted my room a few days ago.) I finally found it under the spare tire. I jerked it from underneath, stuck it in my back pocket, and headed toward the apartment complexes.
***
As I strolled casually towards the apartments, I spotted a young guy cutting hedges. I wondered if he was related to Mister Walters. I looked up above his head and identified the numbers on the building. On the door next to which he was standing, it said "909." It matched with the address I had found.
There was a bench nearby with a newspaper stand beside it, so I bought a newspaper, and sat. I waited and waited, and as soon as the boy was done with the hedges, he began to walk to the door. I slowly crept up behind him, and pulled the paint stirrer from my back pocket. The boy opened the door and stepped inside and as soon as he began to shut the door, I shoved the wooden stick between the door and the frame. I was impressed at my action, and I thanked God that the boy was wearing headphones.
***
As soon as I was sure he had cleared the living room, I stepped quickly inside and made a dash up the nearest stairs. I peered carefully over the banister, down onto the living room. The boy walked into the living room, heavy metal music jamming. He bobbed his head to the rhythm of the guitars and drums, and even played air guitar a couple times. He finally picked up what looked like a book bag and walked outside. I was taking a guess he was leaving.
I slowly walked to the nearest room and opened the door. It was just a bathroom. I sighed and went to the next room. I cracked open the door and then opened it fully. I gasped when I saw a picture of my brother in a soccer uniform sitting on a dresser. The room appeared to be a boys, but it seemed awfully neat, at least compared to Otto's. I perambulated over to the picture and picked it up. I stroked my finger across the face that looked just like me, only it was on a boy. When I lifted my finger up, dust clung to the tip of it. It seemed that nobody had stayed in this room, maybe not even been in this room, for ages. Tears welled up in my eyes, but as soon as I was about to cry, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. The downstairs door had just slammed.
***
As I strolled casually towards the apartments, I spotted a young guy cutting hedges. I wondered if he was related to Mister Walters. I looked up above his head and identified the numbers on the building. On the door next to which he was standing, it said "909." It matched with the address I had found.
There was a bench nearby with a newspaper stand beside it, so I bought a newspaper, and sat. I waited and waited, and as soon as the boy was done with the hedges, he began to walk to the door. I slowly crept up behind him, and pulled the paint stirrer from my back pocket. The boy opened the door and stepped inside and as soon as he began to shut the door, I shoved the wooden stick between the door and the frame. I was impressed at my action, and I thanked God that the boy was wearing headphones.
***
As soon as I was sure he had cleared the living room, I stepped quickly inside and made a dash up the nearest stairs. I peered carefully over the banister, down onto the living room. The boy walked into the living room, heavy metal music jamming. He bobbed his head to the rhythm of the guitars and drums, and even played air guitar a couple times. He finally picked up what looked like a book bag and walked outside. I was taking a guess he was leaving.
I slowly walked to the nearest room and opened the door. It was just a bathroom. I sighed and went to the next room. I cracked open the door and then opened it fully. I gasped when I saw a picture of my brother in a soccer uniform sitting on a dresser. The room appeared to be a boys, but it seemed awfully neat, at least compared to Otto's. I perambulated over to the picture and picked it up. I stroked my finger across the face that looked just like me, only it was on a boy. When I lifted my finger up, dust clung to the tip of it. It seemed that nobody had stayed in this room, maybe not even been in this room, for ages. Tears welled up in my eyes, but as soon as I was about to cry, my heart almost jumped out of my chest. The downstairs door had just slammed.