Two

Roots took one last look around the apartment as he put on his stiff canvas jacket. His eyes passed from the small kitchen, empty except for a cooling tea pot on the counter, to the somewhat larger living room, a whitewashed space filled with moving boxes and packing crates ranging from the size of a small rectangular cigar box to a large 3' x 3' crate sitting in the right corner of the room, almost hidden from sight by the other smaller boxes stacked on and around it. Roots' eyes passed over this without interest, stopping only when they reached a stack of boxes near the door. On top of this stack lay a neat pile of papers, with one placed gingerly on top that simply read: “Total due payments: $48,000.” Here Roots' eyes lingered for a moment, verging on a look of fear before dissolving into their usual happy, mildly loopy gleam as Roots looked back down to fumble with the doorknob. Behind him the stack of papers silently blew off the box and danced a somber dance in the air before scattering themselves on the floor without a sound.