Sixty

Against my will, I drove to Trisha's apartment. The door creaked open, and her sister Beatrice welcomed me and was shocked as a deer caught in the middle of the road.

"Well, fancy seeing you here."

"Where's Trisha?" I asked, keeping my voice stern and getting around to the cramped one-bedroom apartment. The living space was barely separated from the kitchen by a counter cluttered with loose change.

"I'll go send for her," Beatrice said, every evidence of smiling and familiarity now disappeared. Well, at least she was sensible.

The living room had a set of mismatched furniture: a floral sofa, a rustic wooden coffee table, and one office chair which spoke of years spent thrifting.

The air was thick with the scent of stale beer that seeped into the fibers of the worn carpet. My stomach churned in disgust at the cocktail of odors: the sharp tang of alcohol and the saltiness of half-eaten chips strewn across the floor.

"Why the hell would I want Elen to be introduced to such a careless ind