Broken shadows dance on the crumbled and faded sides of the old building. Though the outside looks rundown, the apartments inside appear quaint and clean. The sun had set long ago, and the sky transitions into its deepest shade of blue. Only a broken light leads the way to the door.
“Hey,” the man says.
“Hi,” says the woman, “how was your day?”
“Fine, I guess. No big deal.”
“You say that everyday, you know.”
“Yeah,” says the man, “I know.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so difficult.”
“How am I being difficult? I answered your question,” the man says.
“You keep coming home later,” the woman says.
“And with the extra time you still don’t have dinner ready.”
The shards of shattered dishes glisten from their spot in the garbage can.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t hear you ask a question,” the man says, “all I heard was a statement.”
“Don’t get smart with me. I don’t find you funny.”
“I thought that’s why you married me.”
The woman pauses, not knowing what to say. The cheap air-conditioning causes the floor boards to vibrate. Even with it on, the room burns like hot cinders.
“Well you’re not funny anymore,” the woman says.
“Ouch. I’m heartbroken.”
“Who is she,” asks the woman.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you do…” the woman says, as outside, the bricks of the building crumble into a sea of black.