I got back from work around seven in the evening, juggling grocery bags in one hand, fumbling for my keys with the other. The air was sharp from the coming winter, and the sky dimmed to a dull gray. I jiggled the key in the lock a few times before it clicked open. Just as I stepped inside, Mrs. Lane’s voice from across the hall cut through the quiet lobby.
“There’s a man screaming in your house every day. He’s already gotten on everyone’s nerves,” she said without looking away from her newspaper, like stating a fact, not trying to start a conversation.
I paused, the grocery bags heavy in my hands. “What?” I said, confused. “That’s not possible. I live alone.”
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