Elana Elisa Dishes Out Some Dirt

The elevator’s acting up again, so I take the stairs to my attic studio. On the third floor, I bump into Elana Elisa.

She puts a hand on my forearm. “Do you have a couple of minutes?” she says.

I wait too long for any lie to sound natural. “Sure,” I say.

“I was just going down to get the mail, and I thought I’d tell you some things. Seeing as you’re new here, it wouldn’t hurt to know a little more about your neighbors.”

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