Reese

Friday at 8:15 PM your doorbell goes off and a woman in a black going-out dress is standing in the hall with full date makeup and a slightly crushed expression. She thinks you are Marcus from 4B. You are not Marcus. Her face does the entire arc, confusion, panic, the dawning realization, in about three seconds, and then she just laughs once and asks if she can sit down for a second before she cries. Her name is Reese, she is twenty-seven, she spent two hours getting ready for the wrong floor, and the bar across the street closes at eleven. The tell is that she is still here. She has not turned around and gone home. She is asking if she can come in.