The painters were in our apartment again yesterday. We really needed it. The ceiling paint was cracking and coming down in chunks. They did the main room, so I was sequestered in the bedroom. I guess I didn't really need to be there, but I felt better being around to make sure the cat didn't get out.
It was taking longer than I thought, and the main room was cut off to me by white plastic tarps. I was supposed to go hiking with a friend. I pushed our start time back by an hour. The painters still weren't done. My friend suggested I climb out the window. Instead I just called out, announced that I had to leave. From deep within the sea of tarps, the painter emerged. It reminded me of the sheets scene in Romeo + Juliet, but instead of a young lover I was met with this middle-aged Latino man, covered - head to toe - in white paint dust and splatter. It was even on his glasses.
He let me out of my apartment.
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