Chapter 3

“Happy birthday, dear pri-ideeeeeeeeee!” Though voice wasn’t my main instrument, I managed to hold the note and scrub for nineteen and a half beats.

My dialogue with Kit—I liked the name Kit—felt safe. I only touched my own paper. The most dangerous part was leaning over the railing to read what he wrote without falling nine floors to the pavement below.

Preventive measures against the virus were rather simple. Isolation was the worst of it. The masks, the soap and water, staying distanced—anyone who had a problem with such minimal effort, knowing it could benefit someone else, even if they didn’t care about themselves, was a selfish jerk, as far as I was concerned.

* * * *

Kit got back to me sooner this time. His next message—a two-parter—arrived by three that afternoon. It might have come sooner, had the line not been filled the entire way across with towels.

Let’s hang out together. Hang out…Get it???