into the fabric.
That was when I decided to speak with him.
I went upstairs and knocked on apartment 4B.
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When he opened the door, I held up the tea bag.
“Does this belong to you?”
His expression immediately became apologetic.
“Oh, wow. Did that fall from my balcony?”
“It isn’t the first one.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“I’m sorry. I’m half asleep in the mornings. Sometimes I finish my tea outside and toss the bag without thinking.”
He seemed genuinely embarrassed.
“It won’t happen again.”
I thanked him and went downstairs.
For a moment, I even wondered whether I had made too much of something minor.
The following morning answered that question.
Another wet tea bag was sitting on my balcony.
Still, I said nothing.
I waited almost three weeks.
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I had lived in the building for eleven years and had always tried to be
