LEVI HASTINGS
A small window in my apartment opens to an air shaft that ventilates my unit and the one directly below mine, and through this air shaft I keep tabs on my neighbor. I know what he watches, what he sings in the shower, and what he calls his father on the phone. He calls him Padre.
My neighbor has a girlfriend. Or, he had one. The other night I heard her splashing around in the tub, telling my neighbor all about how she was sleeping with an old high school friend. I sat by my window and listened until I heard the water drain. Afterward, they had what sounded like wild and disconsolate breakup sex, and I thought: We all work through things in our own way.