As the door opened, the distinct waft of “old man” poured out of the room. When Claudia Rosen had initially rented the “suite” (the euphemistic word she always used in her ads) to this Burton Lewis character, she didn’t imagine he would stay for very long. But then again, maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. In the past, she had been better about gauging what her tenants might and might not do. How long or briefly they would stay, how much damage they would cause to one of her rooms, of which she had six on each side of this giant apartment that some might call a “dormitory,” but that she merely viewed as “good business.”

When she had inherited the property from her father, Saul Rosen, she had to admit she was a bit surprised. After all, she was the youngest and a woman; her brother, Stephen, was the oldest and a man, thereby making him the more “logical” choice. For even though he was just three years her senior, he would have been the obvious inheritor of all things according to unspoken misogynistic Jewish law. But, for whatever reason, Saul trusted Claudia more with the building, the crown jewel in his portfolio. The entity that would secure his “enduring legacy.” Even if, rather than calling it a “building,” others might more bluntly refer to it as a flophouse. For flops and failures just like Burton.

His name alone, of course, gave away the fact that he was an older “gentleman.” Though the word gentleman was too kind, as it gave the impression that there was anything distinguished about him. If there was, he obviously wouldn’t need to live in a joint like Claudia’s, with the rent just low enough to attract a “certain element.” The rejects and proverbial puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit anywhere else in society. Ergo, a “conventional” living situation. Claudia knew that was the market this type of building was meant to attract, and she capitalized on it, even though she often had nothing but contempt for the people that gravitated toward the place.

Maybe if she didn’t have to live there herself, it wouldn’t all be so vexing to her. But she knew part of the reason Saul had entrusted her with his “pride and joy” (as all sources of “passive” income are) was because she would be this vigilant. This willing to do whatever it took to monitor the property. And although she was aware that many of the aspiring tenants were offput by the idea of having an onsite landlord, it was non-negotiable for her. And so she lived in the only room that was “on its own,” so to speak. As in, while the other rooms were located to the left or right of the long hallway, hers was in the middle of the wall at the beginning of the start of these rooms. As one entered the overall space, there was a small foyer to enter through so as to acclimate one to the apartment’s nature before fully stepping in and realizing what it was: a dorm-style setup.

As such, within each room, all the tenants had their own toilet and shower, which amounted to about a small corner of the square footage in what was already very tight quarters. But, Claudia reasoned, surely it was better—more dignified—than having to leave one’s room and walk down the hall to some communal bathroom every time there was a sink, toilet or shower-related need. Shouldn’t they appreciate that detail? Claudia often thought when she could overhear some of them bringing their various guests over and complaining about the accommodations, often the bathroom situation. And as for these visitors, Claudia never allowed anyone to enter the premises after nine p.m. and there were certainly no overnight guests permitted.

Obviously, for Burton, that wasn’t a problem. He was a decrepit sixty-something, and not the kind that any girl or woman would find much monetary value in, thus he wasn’t even “gold digger worthy.” This is part of why Claudia was eager enough to rent the room to him—she knew he wouldn’t be having much, if any, company over. Though he didn’t seem to realize that about himself. For he had all the self-awareness of a rock. And though that was true for most men, it was especially true for Burton Lewis. Burton Lewis who really seemed to think he still had “a shot” at life. That is to say, making something of what was left of his existence. Which had, from what Claudia could tell, already been so pathetic thus far.

She made this assessment right after he moved in, back when he didn’t know better than not to chat with Claudia (for “chats” with him were one-sided and endless on his part). By the much-desired conclusion of these “passing anecdotes,” it became apparent to Claudia that Burton was a sad divorcé who felt he had been slighted by his ex-wife, and not given enough of a “chance” to prove their marriage could keep working (not understanding that any woman who gave him a chance at all had already done plenty and more than enough).

Worse still—for the ex-wife—the two had actually procreated, and it seemed his only son never wanted to talk to him, let alone visit him in his depressing dormitory. This Claudia also learned when she was cornered by him one morning while making a cup of coffee in the kitchen—the only room of the overall structure that was communal. Though, technically, if one really wanted to avoid all contact with this coterie of freakshows, they could go to the trouble of rigging up a hot plate or something…even though Claudia had expressly put a clause in the contract saying that this was one of the things that was absolutely not allowed in any tenant’s room. Along with any living creature beyond a plant. And even then, Claudia usually made sure that said plant was “on the level.” In any case, she would have definitely looked the other way if only Burton would get a hot plate and thereby minimize his trips to the kitchen, where he seemed to always be skulking around, lying in wait for someone—anyone—he could talk at.

It got to a point that Claudia had to say something to him about his verbosity after the first couple of months of him being there, because enough of the tenants had come to her personally to complain about it, particularly some of the younger women in their twenties, who didn’t want some old goat making them feel weird or somehow “responsible” for him every time they went to cook something. After that, Burton became oddly reclusive, doing a total one-eighty. Where, previously, you couldn’t escape some kind of exchange with him if you dared to leave your own personal space, now it seemed he scarcely ever emerged (and yes, such was the luxury of having a small monthly stipend from the government). So when Claudia noticed his door open that morning, it was a bit of a shock. Almost as much as the odor that was so forcefully emanating from the room. Not totally fetid, per se, but rather, the olfactory embodiment of crusty, dusty and decaying. Burton was all of those things, and his “codger smell” told that tale with a single unwanted whiff. As Claudia had just gotten.

A whiff that, out of all the other things that had irritated her about him, was the final straw. She would give him a month’s notice to vacate (per the stipulations of the contract) so that the putrid smell of his sadness didn’t permanently set into the walls. Claudia knew that, naturally, some might call her “cruel” for being so arbitrary and, in a sense, quasi-ageist (despite knowing that she wasn’t much of a spring chicken either). But she didn’t care, reminding herself, once again, why Saul had made her the steward of the property, and not someone “softer,” like her brother. Which is why, as far as Claudia was concerned, Burton would simply have to make other arrangements, unearth some other box-like room that he could stink up with the stench of his miserable, wasted life.