Brenda's Bemusement and a Date with Destiny

Brenda’s Bemusement and a Date with Destiny

The rent money was paid. Not just paid, but paid with a little extra tucked away for groceries that didn't involve instant noodles. My landlord, Mr. Henderson, a man whose face seemed permanently etched with the grim determination of someone who’d seen too many late payments, actually managed a sort of grimy smile. It was a disturbing sight, like watching a gargoyle crack a joke. I was still trying to process the sheer, unadulterated relief that washed over me when Brenda called.

“So,” her voice, crisp and laced with that familiar, wonderful skepticism, crackled through the phone. “Did you find a magic lamp? Because suddenly, your pockets aren’t echoing like a wind tunnel.”