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	There's Andrew in 29B.  Laying on his bed, legs
sprawled out like a scarecrow.  Listening to the Velvet
Underground with a needle in his arm, mumbling something
about Jesus and hell.  His face pale, eyes glossy, the tones
of Lou Reed flowing effortlessly through his skull.
"...'cuz it makes me feel like I'm a man... when I put a
spike into my vein..." Yeah.
	Sara lives in 25A.  Standing in front of a mirror, face
painted like a clown.  Her body is taut but soft, pressing
against the strips of fabric she calls clothes.  Jewelry
hangs off her, glistening in the dim light, like neon
billboards.  A production in quality advertisement.
	Mrs. Androzanni's a middle aged Italian woman.  She
lives in 20C with her baby and cat.  Her husband died in a
car crash.  Or a job-related incident.  Or maybe he drowned.
All that matters is he's dead.  She always has that look on
her face, too.  As if someone had just told her she'd died,
and she still didn't know it yet.  She's sitting in her
apartment, stroking her cat, watching soaps on her little
black and white TV.  Her baby cries in its crib, long wails
that never end.
	See, I'm the janitor here in this building and I know
what's going on behind their closed doors.  I just know.
It's like a sixth sense that came on me.  Around the time my
wife died.  Every sound.  Every whisper.  I hear it all.  I
know what it is.  I know what they're all doing.  What
they're saying.  Even what they say about me.  The walls are
thinner than ever.

*  *  *  *

	The clock ticked slowly on the small table beside the
bed.  Adam stared at the thin black hand counting out the
minutes.  He breathed slowly, listening to the odd rhythm
made by the clock and his heart monitor.  He heard the
monitor skip, but the clock kept the beat.  A soft click
from the door made him turn his head.
	"Hi, mom."
	Adam's mother stepped into the room, a gust of wind
following her, nipping at the hem of her skirt.  She went
directly to the window, opening the curtains a little.
	"How can you live in here?  It's so dark."
	Adam bit his lip.
	"I'm just fine, mom.  Don't worry."
	She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.  In the
dim sunlight, he saw her face.  Her hair was tousled, her
eyes red and wet.
	"So how was your day?"
	"Oh, you know...  Same as usual.  Another day, another
stain."  Adam's mother slightly opened the dark green
sweater she was wearing over her waitress uniform.  It was
decorated with light stains from grease and condiments.
There was a new one, fresh and dark.
	Adam nodded.
	"So how about you?  How are you feeling?"
	"I'm all right.  At least that's what the nurses say.
I did a little writing."
	"Oh?  And what are you in this one?  A lawyer?  A
judge?  Superman?"
	"Nah.  Just a janitor."
	"That's a step down from your last one, isn't it?"
	He nodded.  Anything was a step down from his last one.
He remembered it well.  It was written right after the
doctors told him about the cancer.  In it, he'd taken on the
role of God.  He was saved, because he was He, and no one
could make him go away.

*  *  *  *

	"Baby, come to bed."
	My girlfriend was always calling me baby.  It was
sweet, like chocolate on my tongue.
	"I can't.  I just got an idea for my story, and I have
to write or else I'll forget."
	I heard her sigh.  She was understanding.  But tired.
She crept up beside me and kissed me on the back of the
head, tasting my hair.
	"O.K.  Don't keep me in suspense.  What's it about
then?"
	"Well.  I figured that the characters I came up with
wouldn't fit together in the same place.  So I thought I'd
write this story about a kid... maybe a teenager... in a
hospital or something.  And he's writing a story about the
characters."
	"Sounds great, baby."
	Sweet again.  Just as always.  Warm honey on my lips.

*  *  *  *

	Adam slept quietly, his breath coming slowly and
easily.  His mother tucked the blankets under his chin.  She
remembered the day the doctors told them.  The way she cried
that day.  And the day after.  And every day since.  She
remembered the way Adam had said "I'm going to die."  The
tears in his eyes that formed, but never fell.  She looked
in his face - his peaceful, pale face - and wondered how
much she'd remember tomorrow.  And cried.

*  *  *  *

	I saw Andrew going into Sara's room last night.  I know
what they're doing in there.  He came out with a smile and a
thinner wallet.  At least she's not pregnant yet.
	Mrs. Androzanni was screaming today.  Something about
Bobby Lee being dead.  I guess he's a guy on one of her
soaps.  But she was screaming like he was her own dead
husband.  Or her little cat.  Or her baby.  But it's just
some guy on TV.

*  *  *  *

	Adam woke with a start.  He'd been dreaming something
about a river and a man.  And a bird that was always just
out of reach.  His mother was sitting on a chair, her back
to the window.  She was a silhouette, surrounded by the
light of the rising sun.  An angel.
	She'd be alone soon, he thought.  His father had left
them years ago, while Adam was still a child.  He never
understood why.  He always figured it was just something
that had to happen.  And now he was facing another thing
that had to happen.  A death.  A life departing.  And all he
could think about was his mother.  Her eyes closed, long
blond hair thrown over her shoulder.  Wrinkles forming under
her eyes.  Loved and loving.  But so soon alone.  Adam
wanted to tell her that he loved her, but she was asleep.

*  *  *  *

	The police were around this morning.  They found
Andrew's body pressed into the pavement over on the west
side of the building.  His skull was cracked wide open, his
pockets empty.  There were a lot of people around, staring
and gawking.
	The cops searched Andrew's room.  They found his
needles, his journal, his clothes.  They found everything
that was his and private.  They're saying he was high when
he jumped.  Doped up and all he wanted to do was fly.
	Mrs. Androzanni is screaming again.  Screaming at a
blank TV screen about Bobby Lee.  About how he's dead and
never coming back.  Screaming.  Her baby cries, too.  A long
wail to the dead, like his mother.
	I hear Sara's pregnant now.

*  *  *  *

	Adam's mother looked at the last page of the story.
She sighed deeply and slowly.  A strand of hair fell across
her face.
	"Why'd you have to kill him?"
	"I don't know.  Just seemed like the right thing to do
at the time.  Seemed to me that he was heading there from
the start."
	"I know, but..."
	And Adam grabbed her arm suddenly with his skeletal
fingers, staring into her deep blue eyes.  He opened his
mouth to speak, but there was only the sound of his shallow
breath, the constant beat of his heart monitor, and the
endless ticking of the clock.
	He stared at her for a long time before letting go of
her.  The two were silent.  Adam laid his head down to rest.
His mother stared at his face - peaceful, happy, there - and
smoothed his hair.
	Adam's mother cried at his funeral.

*  *  *  *

	"There.  It's finished."
	I heard a sigh of relief from over my shoulder.
	"Finally!"
	I turned and swatted my girlfriend on the rear.  She
winked at me.  I took hold of her hand and hefted myself off
the chair in front of my computer.  She led me towards the
bed, her dark brown curls trailing behind her, tickling my
smooth face.  She climbs into bed, leaving me standing on
the carpet.

*  *  *  *

	The door closes.  The light goes out.  The two young
lovers embrace as he climbs into bed with her.  A cool
breeze from the window washes over them, caressing their
bare skins with a thousand tiny fingers.