From outside the building he saw that mostly the lights were off. It was a Friday night; most people would be out and late. There wasn’t even a door...an. The only person he saw inside the building was downstairs. They didn’t even give him a second look. He went up to the third floor, to 317 and tried the door. The lock on the knob was secure, but he could feel that the deadbolt was not. He rang the bell. After a second, he rang again. ?I’m coming,? someone yelled, not close enough. He waited a. She served him four meals within five hours and talked of demons and enemies chasing him. Mustafa played it calmly without erupting into a fit of rage. When she flew into an unrestrained rant, he simply went to his small room and shut the door tightly. He even covered his ears. He kept away from the television, and its absence contributed to a general wave of dismay and loneliness, as though he were undergoing some panicky withdrawal. Yet after the boredom and agony of patience, the night soon. More

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