The pounding started again three sharp knocks that rattled the swollen wood of the basement door.
"Li Wei! I know you're in there! Rent's two months late. You think I'm your sponsor now?" followed by banging at the door.
The pounding started again three sharp knocks that rattled the swollen wood of the basement door.
Li Wei didn't answer. Didn't move. Just sat cross-legged on the mattress, eyes fixed on the curling tendrils of smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers. His ashtray an old soup can was full. The floor was sticky with spilled coffee and rainwater. Mold crawled along the corners of the ceiling
He listened as the footsteps retreated and the door to his room slammed shut. Another reminder that the world wasn't going to be gentle with him just because he was breaking.
This basement used to be filled with books. He'd called it his "writing cave" back when he believed in things. Now it was cluttered with eviction notices, cold takeout boxes, and the silence that filled a space once meant for stories.
His hands trembled as he lit another cigarette. The manuscript sat on his desk, untouched, mocking him with its stillness. He couldn't write here—not today. Not with the walls closing in like fists.
He grabbed his coat, slipped the manuscript into his pocket, and paused, how was he going to get passed the landlord without notice. "I'd have to take off my shoes" he said to himself silently and he started tiptoeing as he walked past the landlord's door.
The city was wet and grey when he stepped outside, the rain thin but persistent. He lit another cigarette on the curb, shielding the flame with his palm, and began to walk with no destination but he could see the cafe next street ahead.