Justin rolled out of bed at the crack of 10:30. This wasn't unusual for the artist who considered himself more of a night-owl than a morning-person. He had stayed up late last night watching a video on his laptop computer. And, since he once again had a completely free day, he didn't feel guilty about sleeping in.

After a bowl of cereal in lieu of breakfast proper (or would it be considered lunch as it was fairly late in the day already?) and a refreshing shower, Justin once again contemplated how to spend his day.  He thought that he might, finally, be ready to venture outside today. The sun was again shining brightly but it wasn't yet too hot or humid out to make the prospect of a walk uncomfortable. Maybe he would be okay with a short stroll around the block, he thought. With a determined look plastered on his countenance, he strode to his closet and proceeded to dress himself in a pair of khaki shorts and a plain white tee shirt with tennis socks and his usual sneakers. Steeling himself with a deep breath and absentmindedly snapping on his newly-acquired shell bracelet, he resignedly headed towards the exit.

At the bottom of the staircase, he briefly glanced at the loft's mailbox. He still wasn't familiar with the post office's delivery schedule so he didn't note that the letter in his box wasn't part of the regular delivery schedule. He stopped briefly to grab the envelope and then proceeded with his planned outing before he could chicken out.

As Justin stepped out of the building, he took a deep breath. He surreptitiously looked both ways to ensure he was not going to be inundated with a crowd of people. Luckily, Fuller Street was not a frequently travelled street, despite being within walking distance of Liberty Avenue and other more frequented throughways. He randomly decided to head towards his left, towards Tremont Avenue, and valiantly stepped forward on this grand adventure.

More than an hour later, after having successfully negotiated at least 4 blocks full of strangers, and only almost freaking out about seven times when people innocently brushed up against him while navigating the busy sidewalks, Justin finally collapsed onto the stoop of his building.  He was proud of himself despite how difficult the journey had been - he had walked through the neighborhood alone and hadn't succumbed to a panic attack! That was definitely progress. He didn't realize that he had been subconsciously fingering the shell bracelet on his left wrist each time the pressure of the surrounding crowds had started to get to be too much. All Justin knew was that he had somehow conquered his fear, at least momentarily, and been able to venture out of his self-imposed hermitage. Definitely progress!

As he reached into his pocket to retrieve his keys out of the light jacket he had slipped into prior to leaving the loft, he felt the envelope that he had hastily shoved in there prior to his departure. Pulling the letter out along with the keys, he proceeded up the stairs to his sanctuary. He briefly noted that there was no address on the envelope, only his name scrawled across the front. As he mounted the stairs he slipped his finger under the envelope's flap, deftly tore open the top of the envelope and pulled out the letter.

The first thing he noted was that the note was from his landlord - there was the name 'Kinney' penned across the bottom of the missive. But, as he read the note itself, his interest at hearing back from his fantasy man turned to anger.

-Mr. Taylor,

Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you talking about? I don't have any 'tenant' living at the loft - I live here!  You better quit fucking with my mail too or I'll call the cops.  And how the hell are you getting into my locked mailbox anyway? FUCK OFF YOU NUT JOB!!!

Kinney

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Justin was confused and completely pissed off by this response. What the hell was up with this jackass? Kinney didn't know he had rented out the loft to him? What? Justin also took more than a little offense at being called a 'Nut Job'. He immediately grabbed a pen off the kitchen counter, turned the letter over and wrote on the back.

August 6, 5:00 pm.

-Mr. Kinney;

You must be the fucking 'Nut Job' if you don't recall the lease I signed for this loft!  I rented this place for the next two years through Pamela at your property management company last month and the contract clearly provides for a move-in date of August 1st.  I'll forward you a copy of the lease agreement if you don't believe me.

And what do you mean you live here? No one has lived here in more than a year, at least according to Pamela.

Your Very Confused TENANT!

Justin Taylor.

Cloaking himself with his righteous anger, Justin folded the note and proceeded back down to the mailboxes on the first floor. He unceremoniously shoved the note, without any envelope, into the mailbox for #4 and flung the door to the box closed with a metallic clank.  He angrily flipped the 'outgoing-mail' lever and stood there fuming and staring at the box.

That's when he saw the unbelievable - the letter simply vanished right before his eyes!