There is a man that stays in the apartment diagonally across the street. We meet each other occasionally in our windows.

My friends laugh at me because I am thoroughly convinced that this man is a secret agent, an older version of Vin Diesel. He doesn’t return often, but when he does it’s to repack his camouflage and study maps.

When he’s home, his annoying fluorescent kitchen light shines all night long. He needs his nightlight.