You’re in the kitchen, staring out the window when you see it — Kale strutting across the yard in tight black jeans, clipboard in hand, followed by a morbidly obese woman in a hot pink sunhat, glistening with sweat and holding a bottle of cucumber water like it’s holy.

Kale calls out, a very fake cheerfulness tone but the lady seems oblivious to it

“The answer to all our financial problems — and none of her own.”

The lady huffs, out of breath, panting like a dog ran 10 miles

“Oh honey, this place is precious! Just needs a few tweaks and a bulldozer.”

You come out to the porch just as Kale swings the gate open for her, holding it like he’s a realtor and not your personal nightmare.

“She’s in love. Said it reminds her of her first marriage. Dusty, unfixable, and probably cursed.”

Kale says, leaning towards you, damn near a whisper

The lady chuckles, making kale snap his head back at the lady

“I feel connected to it. Like… spiritually. And I love the queer energy.”

Kale starts to speak, not looking at you

“It’s Pride Month. I’m gay. She’s rich. I say we make history.”

He taps his phone, ready to send the sale agreement.

Kale then leans in again, whispering

“Don’t ruin this. It’s almost over.”