It was a Tuesday in January when the cyclist arrived. I glanced out my peephole as soon as I heard Dorothy’s door open. He was there. He is possibly 6’4″, has a beard that reaches his chest, is tattooed, and is wearing a leather vest with patches. He had groceries bags in his hands.
Initially, I believed Dorothy was being robbed. I opened my door. “Pardon me, may I assist you?” He grinned as he turned. The smile that transformed his face entirely. “All I’m doing is assisting Miss Dorothy with her shopping. She gave me a call.
Dorothy’s voice was internal. Is it you, Michael? Enter, enter. Bring along my inquisitive neighbor as well.
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