soon as the numbers flashed on the screen, I
screamed and dashed out of my cube to the
elevators. 13-40-63-2-18-39, 13-40-63-2-18-39, 13-40-63-2-18-39,
those were my numbers, alright. But I had to get
home, fast, and find my ticket.
since Leslie moved in, I've had to find a
different hiding spot each week. We get along, I
suppose, mostly because we never see each other.
But there's something about Leslie I don't trust.
Recently, my browser history has been erased
twice that I know of, and I never do that.
Somebody's also been going through my mail. I
have to keep an eye on Leslie. All my meds are
now locked up in my desk at work.
grabbed the first cab, bright yellow with 1340
painted on the side. 1340, 1340, 1340 stuck in my
head and it took me a minute to remember to give
the driver my address 1839 Lawrence West.
All of a sudden, the middle numbers were coming
something, something, something 1839 the
swarm of possible numbers swirled in my head. A
deep breath and I leaned over the front seat to
see how much further, then Cliff and he
looked like a Cliff barked into the
rearview mirror, "Hey, putcher seat belt on
or I'm gonna pull over. Wanna make trouble or
somethin? Cop sees that-n-I'm"
was enough distraction to get to my place, where
I dropped a fifty on the front seat
magnanimity, I was going to love it jumped
out of the car, and raced to the front door. I'd
left my key at the office stupid!
but old lady Smithson was always home and she'd
buzz me in. She lived for the buzzer and often
she answered, I shouted into the speaker. I
always say it's Leslie. She likes Leslie, and it's
kinda funny, because she thinks I'm saying,
"Wesley." That's her son she hasn't
seen in years. Not my problem though.
time of day, the ankle biters and slackers are
napping, so I caught an empty elevator to the 7th
floor and was at my door ... sans keys.
Duh! Luckily, I hadn't left my cell at work, so I
phoned the super, who, more good luck for me, was
on 6 finishing up with Miss Rossi.
agonizing minutes, I was in my apartment trying
to recall where I'd put that damn ticket. Couldn't
be in my Play No, first place Leslie
would've looked. The Hemingway Mariel, not
the other one under the TV guide? No, that
was last month. Taped to the back of my dresser?
Hadn't tried that yet. In the freezer behind the
ice trays? Done that. Underneath the bottom plate
in the kitchen cabinet? Not sure, so I checked.
Nope. Inside the vent cover behind the headboard?
Too much heavy lifting and way too dusty. Wouldn't
have bothered. The bathroom? Maybe, but where?
I opened the door to the bathroom, the toilet was
lying on its side. On the mirror in red lipstick,
'13-40-63-2-18-39' with '63-2' double underlined.
Sixty-three square feet the area I counted
every morning after too much dairy. Now I
remembered. But how would Leslie have known? And
that wasn't Leslie's. It was mine
and it's still in my purse.