379. He continued to shower until he finished the sliver of soap. He stepped out, dried thoroughly and talced the necessary. The soles of his feet were persistently grey. He had never known why but always pumiced them to within an inch of their lives in the hopes of uncovering the pink. He dressed with care and left the house.

Should he chance to say what he was doing, he would disguise the saying so as to throw one off the track, describing, for example, a passenger on a plane while neglecting to tell us where the plane was headed, or narrating a dream of the night before when asked what he had been doing recently. Tonight was no exception; he was going to dinner, if he happened to meet her along the way and she happened to join him, well how delightful. Like Rapunzel, she lived in the tower apartment above the street corner and nestled in the tall, hundred-year-old oaks. He, like the prince, glanced furtively at the windows every time he passed by. This evening, however, for the first time in years, he finds his (delicately powdered) courage:

He rings.

She asks who is it.

He says his name.

She says come up and buzzes.

He opens the door.