The girl that lives downstairs from you had been here longer than anyone. She knew all the residents by name or door number, her little brother ran around like a hooligan.

Three loud pounds echoed on the door with the crooked numbers, 323. “I’m coming I’m coming!” Monee’s begrudged voice coming through the muffled door.

The door swung open and she gave you a pointed look. Removing the cigarette between her lips and flicking it.

“You need sum?” Her monotone voice showed little interest.