“Pardon me, please.”

He whirled and a tall black man was staring at him.

The man caught hold of the doorknob, then paused.

“You live in this building?”

His lips parted and he nodded slowly.

“Oh, you’re the new tenant on the third floor?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered.

“Dunbar is my name,” the man said.

He stared, then extended his damp hand; the man gazed at him intently.

“You look like you’re all in. Did you move in today?”

“Sir? Yes, sir.”

The man laughed, then stepped to the sidewalk. Was the man suspicious of him? Would he encounter the police and tell them that a stranger was lurking in the vestibule? He eased open the door and followed the man until he disappeared. He stepped back into the vestibule and gazed about with an air of annoyance. Then he shook his head, laughing.

He smoked in chain-fashion and the vestibule was thick with blue clouds. When he looked into the street again he was astonished to see that the rain had stopped and that the air was growing rapidly lighter. The siren sounded again and the police car sped past, going back toward the hospital this time. The water that had flooded the sidewalks was flowing back into the gutters. The manhole cover exposed a crescent that gaped in the pavement like a black slip of moon. From behind a pile of grey clouds the sun emptied cascades of yellow into his eyes. He blinked. A car careened near; there was a loud screech of brakes as it stopped suddenly to avoid the manhole. He laughed. The water in the gutters had now gone into the water-drains and irregular patches of sidewalk were dry. Then, suddenly, the sun was swallowed once more by cloud-masses. The wind rose and a steady downpour beat a muffled hum. The siren sounded again somewhere nearby, then died. He waited, tense. This time the thirsty scream came from the distance. He wished he were a tiny insect that could crawl into one of those crevices in the brick wall; he would be safe then. People would pass him as they went about their daily business.