Tell a Story II

I lift my glass as a muffled curse comes through the wall, abrupt and thick. The man’s voice. I can’t make out all his words, but I did hear a distinct “bitch”. I stand up with my ear still to the wall. Her voice is faint and hollow, but it’s there; at least she is alive. She says “every time” and “why are you” and I could swear I heard the word “trust”. A few more hostile tones pass between them until a drawer slams and seconds later the door flies open. I jump and press my face to the peep hole, but only catch a glimpse of a hairy arm swinging past stone washed jeans. And then it is quiet.
The thick plastic curtain is drawn across my window and I pull it back. No one is out on the landing and I press my hand to the glass. The night is just arriving and it carries a chill the likes of which we have not felt in Texas since last February. Out past the railing the horizon is lined with the last misty rays of color, pushing through layers of air pollution and atmosphere. One last look at the city in the distance, the city I am leaving behind, and I drop the curtain back in place. I don’t need to look out there again.