217 Babel Street | Apartment 15
Tom Carson rang the bell and waited. He looked at the glass spyhole in the door panel, knowing full well that he was being scrutinised from the other side. He smiled and kept on smiling. His mouth ached with it. Finally, the door opened.
They kissed lightly, awkwardly. Julietta offered him a drink, something to eat. He took the drink. Wine. It was cold, like pressing his tongue against ice. No flavour. All he wanted to do was get this over with, return to his own place, his own little bedsitter world. But now the woman was asking him to sit down. He hardly knew her, not really, just another person in the office. She held a plate of cheese and pickles out towards him. "No. No thanks." He backed away. The shiny plastic of the couch squeaked under him.
Sometimes the world turns away around the sun without his notice, he feels he might be left behind. He can hardly see his own reflection in the mirror.
"Show me." Now he took control, and Julietta nodded. She reached under the coffee table and pulled out the package. It was wrapped in brown paper. "You haven't opened it?" he asked. She answered in the negative, but could he trust her? His fingers traced across the address label: Julietta Miles, Flat 15, 217 Babel Street, Blackthorn Sands, East Sussex. And he wondered how far it had travelled and for how many days, to get here tonight, into his hands.