Paying three hundred thousand dollars of debt before being ordered out of the house
I finished the tea, washed the mug in the sink, and dried it with the last paper towel.
I placed the mug into the canvas bag with my kettle and zipped it closed.
The blue folder was the last thing on the counter.
I took the three brass keys from my pocket and laid them in the center of the clean granite counter.
They looked small against the dark stone.
I picked up my bag and my folder, walking out to the front porch.
The evening air was cool and smelled of the river.
I pulled the front door shut, hearing the lock click into place.
I walked down the steps to my car, the gravel crunching under my shoes.
I did not look back at the windows as I backed out of the driveway.
The drive downtown took twenty minutes, the traffic on Broad Street moving slowly under the yellow streetlights.
I parked in the garage under my new building and took the elevator to the fourth floor.
The apartment was small, with white walls and a polished wood floor that smelled of beeswax.
