…When she took her rent check to the manager, Zinnia allowed her curiosity out of the cage—“What did the man die of, the guy before me, B-9?”
“Oh,” the woman shrugged, clearly not personally involved with tenants whatsoever, “heart or liver, something—it was nobody’s fault.”
To Zinnia, that closing phrase seemed 6 blocks past ‘odd’, and lacked any semblance of reassurance, if that was intended; since nothing further was forthcoming, she took her raised eyebrows and backed out the door, smiling awkwardly.
Dead-bolting herself within this strange little world, her apartment, she made a tuna sandwich and turned on the Weather Channel.
Her coveted wind chimes played lightly, a kindly sound to encourage the heart as she pondered bus-ing to the library or thrift shop…but the TV meteorologist confirmed rain, now beginning (as if on cue) and quickly gathering vehement force; decision made—she’d stay indoors.
Again the music box silently beckoned…hefting it carefully, she viewed the underside…and read aloud the words printed with indelible black marker: “nobody’s fault, not your fault.”
© R L Cadillac, 2017 ~ All rights reserved.
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