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The listing had been up for four minutes.
Two bedrooms. One bathroom. Unfurnished. A neighborhood from before, back when you still could.
He saved it.
Two hours later he wrote to the number. Without saying too much. Carefully. The way you knock on a door you already know might not open.
The reply took a day.
Visit Thursday at 6 p.m. Please confirm.
He confirmed.
Thursday there were eleven people on the landing.
Nobody looked at each other too long. Nobody asked anything. You could hear the noise from the street below and the sound of someone typing at the far end of the hallway.
The landlady opened the door with the gesture of someone who has done this many times already today.
—Five at a time, please.
Five minutes per group.
He counted silently. Eleven on the landing. Others had come before. More would come after.
He went in.
Two bedrooms. One bathroom. Unfurnished.
In the living room window, a crack in the frame someone had tried to fill with caulk.
He didn’t mention it.
No one did.
Back on the street he took out his phone.
A new message from the landlady.
Thank you for your visit. We have received 135 applications. We will be in touch with our decision in the coming days.
He walked to the subway.
Inside, the car smelled like people coming from work. Everyone looking at their phone or looking at the floor or looking at that middle point where there’s nothing to see.
On the screen in the station, a real estate ad.
Your home, your choice.
The doors closed.
Santiago Copí
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Santiago Copí 