When we walked into the condo it was lit up in a red light, she preferred the red lighting, it helps with my eyes, Mya said. So in her condo everything was awash in red, even that tongue between her teeth and the teeth themselves above and below it. She placed rose water on her temples. The red light prevents damage to the retina, it produces collagen, it also helps you think more acutely, she said.

A manila envelope was near her right hand as she spoke, with a phone number and a name scrawled on it, something that began with an M; I couldn’t tell because the writing slanted and was mostly illegible. There were also circles on the envelope, a tornado of black ink, as if someone had tried a pen that was almost empty or dried from disuse.

On the television there was figure skating. The woman at the center of the rink wore green. Her left leg slid behind her right leg and the right foot was out in front of her, then it moved behind her left ankle, an impossible thing in the air, a fall. I’d missed more of Mya’s words while watching the ice. Mya continued, explaining something about elevators, about how they’re not completely closed or sealed, how air always gets in, which reminded me of a red elevator I often used when I’d lived elsewhere. Mya continued on.

There were dollar bills on the kitchen table. I noticed it from my place on the couch, rubber bands around stacks of dollar bills. I was curious about the money: What was it for? Then she was pointing at her breasts, and I listened to everything she said about them.

The rug had flowers in it. I didn’t know what type of flowers, but they were large and white against the black rug. On the walls near the baseboards someone had drawn something—an incoherent design with black markers, wild, as if made by a child. There was dust down there, on the baseboards and on the wooden furniture. There was dust on her perfume bottles. This was not how I would imagine taking care of a home. Mya was speaking about a blow dryer, something I wasn’t interested in. I thought of the palm trees moving in the humidity and a backdrop of balconies, hundreds of balconies, and of my hips burning from the sun.

It smelled sweet in her condo, honey. Outside, there was a swimming pool. The floor was a red clay set against the white border and the blue of the water, and in the pool some children were swimming unsupervised while Mya said, the cheese was all over the bedding that day, and though I didn’t understand what she meant I didn’t ask her to explain. The ladder could be seen under the water, and four stainless step pads.