When Soula had gotten home that day, she had checked her mailbox. Nothing. The box labeled 304 Barrens was empty. Odd, wasn’t there always something in a person’s mailbox? She held onto her keys and headed up the stairs.
She was glad her apartment was in such an eclectic building. It was much like Holly Golightly’s on the outside, the key locked mailboxes just inside the front door in the cozy entryway, and in the dark stained wood rail of the staircase. There was something simple and old fashioned about living in an older building and having to climb the stairs. The apartments, however, were more modern and open here, which was a wonderful thing, and there were lots of windows; she loved the light.
James’ choice in apartments for her was one of the things she loved about James. It said something about him that you wouldn’t notice at first glance. She saw beneath the suit and tie, the slick hair, the manicured nails, the money. He knew she’d love it, he'd said so when she told him she did; this meant he understood these things. If he knew she would love it, then he must have loved it too. He loved her, after all. Not a time went by when she took the steps that she didn’t think about this part of him. It’s why she would always enter her home with a smile on her face.
There was a stack of mail waiting for her in front of her door. She thought this to be overtly odd. Perhaps the mailman had put the mail in with someone else’s by mistake, she wondered whose. There was no note to say. She looked around. Everything was quiet and normal.
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