Where did the time go?

Maggie's house is nearly empty. The living room has been cleared save for the television, the little table it rests on, and a lamp. Her room is deserted. The halls, dining room, kitchen...all empty. If a stranger were to walk in, they'd have suspected I was some squatter hiding away in my room—the only one that remains unchanged.

Harold's right, I guess. It takes me no time at all to pack up my meager belongings, though it doesn't solve the question of where I'm supposed to go. I want to stay near here. I want to be close to the bridge. To Maggie.

I should have taken Harold up on his offer to help me look for a place. I check out three apartment complexes in the neighborhood, both of which are seedy, overpriced, and look like the carpets have been scrubbed with dirt. I may not be picky about my living arrangements, but I don't want roaches crawling across my face in the middle of the night. They creep me out.

I find another complex on the other side of the bridge, so it's farther than I'd like, but close enough. Closer to the light-rail station and the animal shelter, at least. The grounds are quiet when I pull up. In the leasing office is a curly-haired blonde girl in her late twenties, popping bubble-gum and typing noisily with her long nails. I linger near the door, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, and wait to be noticed.

Eventually she stops and looks up. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. Are you here to drop off rent for your parents?"

A faint flush finds its way to my face. "I don't live here. I'm looking for a place."

"Oh." Her eyes widen, but she stands and comes over to offer her hand. "I'm Laney. Sorry about that. You just look..." Laney pauses and smiles. "Nevermind. Anyway, come have a seat, mister—?"

I hate it when people call me that. "Vincent." I shake her hand and let her usher me into a chair.

"Vincent." She slides a brochure of floor-plans over to me. "What kind of apartment are you looking for, Vincent?"

"I don't know," I admit. Which is the answer I gave to every other place. Rather than try to shove a sales spiel down my throat, though, Laney gestures to the brochure and gives me a second to look it all over. I don't know how to tell whether or not I want to live in a place by tiny boxes with dimensions written inside.

"Do you have..." I pause, slide the brochure back to her, "anything...second floor. Overlooking the river?"

Laney clicks away at her computer and turns the monitor to show me a diagram of the complex I don't quite understand. "Well, we have a nice two-bedroom here. A townhouse down this way... And there's a little studio right in here, see? I'm not sure what the view is like." She glances at my face and when I say nothing, she offers, "I can take you to see it, if you want?"