"Despite his body and mind often refusing to cooperate, Armand has found he quite enjoys the soothing repetition of having a routine. Knowing exactly how his day is going to go lends a fragile peace of mind that is otherwise utterly elusive. It has been days since he was able to complete it. His mind is not as strong as it used to be. The only comfort is that the unpredictability has, in its own way, become predictable. Wake up, from a dream or a nightmare or the hazy in-between. The starling is still sleeping. Take stock of his surroundings. Check the locks. Check the windows. Check the time, always check the time. He’d owned a watch once, a beautiful, sturdy, golden weight around his wrist, anchoring him to the earth. He had loved watching the tiny mechanical hands ticking, ticking, ticking. It was proof of his existence, of time’s unceasing march forward. He would lose time. The watch would not."

"The man’s name, it turns out, is Daniel Molloy. One of Armand’s faceless neighbors who lives “just down the street” from his apartment. A small house with a red door and empty window boxes. Armand has seen it before in passing. He keeps his distance and never peeks through the windows, because there is always a car in the driveway. Squared door frames and squared shoulders draped in red. Hands closing around his wrists.   The starling cries weakly, its energy flagging."

Armand reads the note, then reads it again. He traces his fingers over the letters, the faint grooves of Daniel’s pencil against the sheet of notebook paper. The words are a loose scrawl—quick to write, easy to read. So easy that Armand finds himself glancing over it again without even realizing. Does Daniel find him weird? Armand has been called worse. Besides, Daniel had been outside as well. He feels ill remembering how exposed he had been when Daniel had seen him. Cowering. Wailing like a lost child. Does Daniel think of him with disgust? Pity? Armand’s throat grows tight and dry. But he had cared. He had cared enough to follow Armand home and return his key. He had respected his wish to be left alone, agreed to come to an understanding about their conflicting habits.  Polite, if nothing else. Neighborly. He thinks of Daniel outside his door, his retreating steps. The voice he’d heard—blunt, harsh, a little unsure—jumps into his mind. He shapes the rough vowels into his name. Armand. Armand. Armand.