6

Rita

The apartment building isn't burning anymore when I get back to Texas.

Instead, it's a blackened husk.

Even from across the street, the coals are still hot. Steam rises into the early morning Texas air. My skin feels like I'm warming myself by a fire. Sunlight slants through drifting, lazy clouds, and it would almost be pretty.

If it didn't represent the total destruction of my existence.

Everything I owned was in that apartment. Everything except for my car and the few meager belongings I brought with me to Boston. Pictures from my childhood, my high school yearbooks, all my clothes, my expensive make up, my climbing gear, shoes, mugs, plates, paintings, little keepsakes and knickknacks I've collected over the years—all gone now.

"Horrible, isn't it?"

I flinch at the voice and look over. My landlord Eduardo's standing ten feet away. I don't even remember him showing up. He's staring at the wreck with his hands on his hips, looking exhausted. He's older, mid-fifties, balding and