The room was tense. I was sitting in an arm chair by a ceiling to floor length window, pouring light into the living room. There were four other people walking around the apartment quietly, taking pictures, analyzing the walls, checking the lights, testing the sinks. Behind me, a girl sat at a table writing down her income and savings on a form, framed by late morning sunlight from four large old fashioned windows that take up an entire wall in the kitchen. In front of me was an old, closed up fireplace, bricks painted white. I was giving the young blond haired hard to read landlord on the chair opposite me a friendly look with just a touch of I will personally murder you if you do not give me this apartment in my gaze. One by one, the milling hunters handed him their applications, expressed their interest, and left smiling, until it was just the two of us sitting there, looking at each other.
“Do you need to look over those?”
“No. I was just being polite.”
I got out a check. “Spell your name for me.”