In the cool of the apartment, he makes everything ready. He closes the drawers and replaces the empty shelves of the bookcases. He throws all the empty food cans, stray Kleenex, fluttering pieces of paper, into a large plastic sack, then ties it neatly and leaves it by the back elevator. He spreads one of his mother’s clean white tablecloths on the dining table and arranges his museum collection again. When all this is completed, he bathes himself using the good soaps, and dresses in a clean white shirt and black trousers. He smoothes his hair down, black and sleek against his skull.
He is waiting for sunset. The Jewfish agrees: sunset is the time. He hangs out of his window to watch the sun dip, livid orange, into the horizon, slowly vanishing, fragment by fragment, stretching its fingers out into the sky for as long as it can until it is finally gone.
There is a knock at his door. He pauses. Answer the door, says the Jewfish. He opens the door.
To be continued…