[Completed] A U.S. expatriate is cast into a rainy, foggy corner of Europe. He went there on the pretense to work on his research, but he actually wanted to put as many miles as possible between himself and his ex.
The university he works for has fo...
Art rose and faced upstairs, the dustpan and its yolky contents in his left hand and a messy brush in his right one.
The sound of footsteps was getting closer, and a short man clasping a folded shopping bag appeared. Ralph Meier—Janitor Meier's son and her resident spy—greeted him cheerfully. "Hey, Art."
"Morning, Ralph."
They had talked before. Ralph worked at some bank, and he usually wore a suit and a tie and was armed with a briefcase, looking all lower-echelon clerkdom. But today he was dressed in jeans and a fake-felt padded jacket.
The man stopped and scrutinized Art's tools with a gnomish smirk. "What are you doing with these?" He stopped on the bottommost step of the stairs, which placed his gray eyes on a level with Art's.
"Cleaning. Someone dropped an egg here."
"Oh, did they?" Ralph viewed the smeared egg-remains smeared over the floor. "And they didn't bother to clean up?"
"Nope."
"Hm, I wouldn't put it past some people here to do that." He gave Art a grin and winked.
Art shrugged. He didn't want to be dragged into the man's speculations of who might be the perpetrator.
Ralph glanced at the door leading to the janitor's apartment. "Well, I'll need to discuss this affair with my mother, later. But let me tell you one thing." He lowered his voice and moved closer to Art, who took a step back. "Some things have got to change in this house."
Art raised his eyebrows, waiting for the man to continue.
"My mother will talk to the owner, about some of the people here..." Ralph whispered. "But now I've got to go shopping." As if to prove this wild statement, he raised his shopping bag and shook it in before of Art's face. Then he tiptoed over the mess on the landing. "See ya later!" he said, now looking up at Art. He nodded, then he turned towards the exit.
"Bye." Art waved the brush after his neighbor, but it was a vain gesture since it was directed at the back of the man's head, which was covered by undulated, dark hair that thinned out towards the apex. The hairdo was strangely reminiscent of Mrs. Meier's coppery waves, except for the near-baldness at its top. Art briefly wondered if it was a perm. Then he realized that his brush was dripping egg goo onto the floor. He quickly held it over the dustpan.
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After removing all traces of egg from the floor, retreating to his apartment, cleaning the dustpan, trying to clean the brush, and showering, he finally opened his fridge to prepare himself a fine breakfast. Originally, he had planned for scrambled eggs, but after this morning's adventures he decided on a box of instant muesli instead.
He sat down at the table in his tiny kitchen and glared at the pinboard on the wall beside it. It held a brief shopping list (milk, fruit, microwavables) and the roster Janitor Meier had bestowed upon him when he had moved in.
