“YOU SURE YOU don’t need no help?” I’m at the front desk. Cricket’s upstairs in her bed sleeping. “I could use the money.”

He working on another puzzle, got his head down, his pencil filling in blanks. “Rent’s due. Overdue.”

“I know. That’s why—” I point to his puzzle. “Reality. That’s the word.”

He write down the last two letters and say, “So, you want me to pay you so you can pay me the rent you owe me that’s already late?”

My head goes up and down, only he can’t see ’cause his eyes don’t leave the page.

“I’ll be a little late getting the rest to you.”

“No kidding.”

“Like I said, I could work off some of what I owe.” I could scrub, I tell him, dust down here, wash towels, paint. JuJu taught me how to do some of everything.

“Spanish.” He look up. Sits the pencil on the desk. “Good word.” He tell me that he ain’t hiring. That the maid only works three days a week now, instead of seven, ’cause his money’s not what it used to be. “If you need extra toilet paper, soap, and such, get yourself some. It’s in the hall.” He grab the pencil again. “But rent ain’t negotiable. You stay, you pay like all the rest.”

“But—”

“Haven’t I already given you one break after the other?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Go home, child.” He fills in another block. “Ain’t nothing good out here for you.” He must be smart ’cause he write down a twelve-letter word, plus two more before he says anything else. “Y’all kids don’t listen. My daughter didn’t either.” His eyes water.

He drops the pencil. Stands up and comes from behind the desk. I follow him over to the door.

“Look, people left fingerprints on the glass.” I stand beside him. “I could fix that for you.”

He don’t answer. He waves to Gemini on her way in carrying grocery bags. She waves, winks, keeps on moving. He and me keep doing what we doing. “Thank you,” I say.

“I was wondering when it was coming. A simple thank-you go a long way. But I still want my money.”

I think about his sons and wonder how a man can end up with no family. “What happened to your wife and kids?”

“You don’t pay, I’ll put you out. Won’t be my fault if you—” His eyes is on me when he say, “Take your baby and go home, little girl. Wherever it is. These streets is mean. And you can’t beat ’em.”