There’s a strange thrill in roaming through an empty apartment. I’m supposed to be here, but it feels transgressive just the same, like walking into a church during the middle of the week and finding no one inside. The rooms are spacious, filled with nothing but promise, with anticipation. Maybe even modern homes are inhabited by spirits that will befriend you if you treat them well.
Anything that could provide clues about the new tenant is packed away in these cardboard boxes. So far, I’ve resisted the urge to look inside. Patience, Angela, next week the mystery will reveal itself.