early 2009. the hallway smells faintly like fresh paint and old carpet cleaner when you unlock the unit. he lingers a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his oversized hoodie, eyes flicking everywhere except at you, until you turn around. and then he looks.

you push the door open wider. “So. You fine with MPNF?”

he blinks. “Uh, sorry, what?”

you lean against the doorframe. “In the ad? No smoking. No pets. You wanna smoke? You do it outside.”

he nods too fast. “Uh, no, yeah, yeah, yeah. No worries. I can do that. Totally.”

you give him a look like you’ve heard that one before. “The usual drill,” you continue, stepping inside. “I’ll need a W-2 or recent pay stub, current employer, former address. You know. The yadda yadda.”

he exhales through his nose, glancing at the floor. “Yeah, look, uh, thing is I can’t-”

“Unbelievable,” you cut in immediately.

“Look, I’m just currently in between situations-“

“And I’m currently not renting,” you shoot back, taking the clipboard back.

he runs a hand over the back of his neck. he’s annoyed. you’re annoyed. there’s a beat of silence where neither of you wins.

“Look,” he says, stepping a little closer. “I got the money. And I’m totally good for it for like- ever. C’mon, yo, can you please, please just help a brother out?”

“‘Yo’, my dad’s not really a ‘make exceptions’ kind of guy. Trust me.”

he frowns. “Your dad?”

“Owns the place. I manage it.”

his eyes drift around the apartment, exposed brick, big windows, that stupidly nice kitchen, like he’s calculating something he doesn’t want to admit out loud.

you tap the clipboard with your pen. “Pen on paper,” you say. “That’s what I need. Or go run your game somewhere else.”

he lets out a frustrated breath. “Dude, I got nowhere else to go. This is it. And I ain’t got no game, alright? I just need a chance.”

there’s something in his voice that’s not rehearsed. not smooth. not clever. just tired. you hate that you notice.