Then I hear breathing. Jesus. A mouth breather. Very noisy. I hear footsteps go to the fridge. I peek over the couch. When someone opens a fridge, they rarely are looking behind them. There’s a silhouette of a man standing there, considering the open fridge like there’s a bunch of things in there. Should he pick the turkey? Should he grab a handful of grapes? Why is he standing there for so long? There’s nothing inside. A hand comes into view inside the lit fridge. I see the edge of a shirt I recognize. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve seen it enough times. It reaches for the baking soda, then stops. I duck back behind the couch. I hear a loud sniffing sound. Is he smelling the baking soda? What does it smell like? Probably not very good. It’s very expired. It could smell like anything.

After a good long whiff, the fridge closes again. I get ready to make my exit. Once I hear footsteps going anywhere inside this apartment, I’m going to calmly stand up, walk to the door, unlock it, open it, close it, and walk calmly to my apartment. The footsteps are headed toward the couch, getting quieter as the feet hit the carpet. Clonk clonk clonk piff piff piff. It’s coming right up to my hiding spot. He sits down on the couch, breathing through his mouth loudly. I can smell his breath. He should get a toothbrush.

I’m not comfortable. There’s dust back here. Should I say something? It may not be too late. Kind of like when you don’t know someone’s name. If you ask for it fast enough, it’s not a big deal, but if you wait three months to ask, people start taking offense. Maybe I can pop up and say “hello! Sorry! Wrong apartment!” And walk out before I get nailed to the wall with something sharp. I open my mouth to say something, then shut it again when the man starts making sounds with his mouth, like this: uuuuuunnnnnnggghhhhhhh. It was creepy. Not like a zombie, more like an involuntary sound, like stepping on a duck. Did you know that if you step on a dead duck it still quacks? Well, maybe only a proper quack if you wind up and stomp it hard and fast, like a rubber chicken, but it does.

This was the human equivalent of stepping on a dead duck.

I leaned back against the wall carefully. I hope this thing has a TV. I don’t know if I can handle that sound all night. I’m here for hours. It’s gotten so that I’m not even afraid any more, just bored. You can only be afraid of something for short period of time. If a werwolf jumps out at you in a Halloween house of horrors, you jump and shit your pants, but if you stand there for a few hours while the werwolf keeps jumping out at you, it starts to get so you don’t mind it so much.

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That’s where I’m at right about now. I put my chin in my hands and roll my eyes.

Finally! The fucker is standing up. I hear soft carpet under his feet, then thunks on the floorboards and they’re heading towards the door. The front door. I hear the lock turn, the knob twist, and the door opening. then the door closing. Is this a trick? Is he standing inside still, waiting for me to come out? I don’t care any more. I have to pee. I’ll just say I was doing a pest inspection behind his couch and fell asleep. I’ll tell him to call my supervisor if he has any complaints.

I stand up and head right to the door. He’s not there. Whatever. I don’t care any more. Wait. He’s gone now. Where’s he going. I need to follow. I need to know where his shed went. I need to know where that building came from. I head out before he gets too much walkin’ time. I don’t even lock the door. I keep the key. I’m looking around fast now. I don’t see him. I run to the sidewalk and look up and down the street. It’s deserted out here at this hour, no cars, no walking people. He should stand out. There! I saw a heel go behind the office building. I start sprinting after, trying to keep my feet from slapping too much. I don’t have the time to sneak as properly as I’d like.

If I saw myself like this, I would say “now that looks suspicious. Somebody better call the cops on that suspicious footwork.” But there’s nobody to see.

I reach the edge of the building that I saw his heel go behind, and I slow down a little, just in case he’s right there, waiting for someone to catch unawares. I peek. There he goes again! He’s hopping into the parking garage! His shirttail is flapping in the breeze as he hauls himself into the structure. I crouch run to the spot and peer over. He’s walking toward some stairs.

I leap over the wall and head towards the stairs. I do the thing again where I slow down when I reach the spot he was at, but I don’t think he knows there’s someone chasing after him. The stairs go far below the parking structure. They’re so long that I have to take a break a few times before I get to the bottom. I know he’s down here. I saw him go down these stairs. Right? I’m almost 99% sure I saw him go down these stairs.

At the bottom, I look around fast. The area is vast. There’s nowhere else to go. I don’t see him. I start to sweat and the hotdog timer in my head starts up again. I have some time, only I’m not sure how much. I don’t know how long these hotdogs are cooking for this time. I stay along the edge of the wall as I head further into the vast cave that is the parking garage.