It’s about 6:30. Friday evening. I’m sitting at home, flipping through channels. Trying to distract my mind from thinking about the work I have to do. And it’s been working.
I hear a knock on the door… We don’t get visitors here. Only the land lord asking for money, or the next door neighbours asking to borrow spices or tools! It’s neither. A man in his late 20’s or early 30’s. Immediately I think of charity, or maybe even some sort of religious recruiter.
“Hi I’m your neighbour from upstairs, my name is C.” [name withheld] , he says.
“I thought we could talk. After all, in these times when everybody isolates themselves and we’re alone it’s good to talk.”
I’m not sure what’s going on.
Upstairs neighbour?
I wasn’t playing music. I wasn’t making any loud noises. We’re not that loud usually and I had gotten home a short while ago.

My mind working extra fast to come up with a reasonable guess as to why this man is down here, I notice him eagerly waiting at the door so I invite him to come in . He’s jittery. Some of his sentences are incoherent. There are long pauses followed by a flurry of words. I notice he’s not wearing a jacket and from the type of clothes he is wearing, it doesn’t look like he could be coming from the cold outside. So, I believe him. There’s an awkward silence, and he begins.
“Can I read you something?”. And I notice he has a notebook with him.
“When I finish, you may think I’m crazy. You may dislike me. But please listen.” This makes me very curious. And I reassure him and ask him to read me what it is he has with him.
C has a very odd style of writing. Some sentences are well written, yet some sound like they’ve been written by a high schooler and some don’t make much sense to me. He has written about how he wants to be normal and have a job. But nobody will keep him on the job for long. How he dislikes it, but can’t help it. The passage was short, but it gives me some insight into what’s bothering him.

…to be continued