Hard.
Impatient.
Too certain of its own power.
She opened the door before he could make the neighbors curious.
Mr. Talbot stood in his usual puffer vest with a clipboard in one hand and his reading glasses halfway down his nose.
He was a man built out of rules and irritation.
“I’ve called three times.”
“I know.”
“You avoiding me?”
“No.”
His eyes slid past her into the apartment.
He smelled faintly of menthol and gasoline.
“You got money for me?”
“No.”
His mouth flattened.
“Then we got a problem.”
Lauren felt Denise listening from the couch behind her.
Felt the whole hallway waiting.
This was what poverty did too.
Turned every conversation public.
“I know,” she said.
He shifted his clipboard under his arm.
“How soon?”
“I have an interview tomorrow morning.”
He looked unimpressed.
“I didn’t ask about an interview. I asked about rent.”
“If I get the job, I can pay you.”
