Instructions for the New Tenant

The hot water takes forty seconds. Count them. The radiator in the bedroom will clank at 3 AM—this is normal, it's just the building settling into its own temperature. Don't call maintenance. They can't fix what isn't broken. The woman downstairs is ninety-three and her hearing aid batteries die every Thursday. If you hear Pavarotti at full volume, that's why. Knock twice, she'll turn it down. She'll also offer you cookies. Accept them. They're store-bought but the company isn't. The window in the kitchen sticks in summer. The trick is lifting and pushing at the same angle, about thirty degrees. I've left a diagram in the junk drawer. The super's name is Miguel and he remembers everyone's birthday. I don't know how. Don't ask, just accept the yearly card. I lived here for eleven years. These walls know things about me I've told no one. Treat them gently. They're good at keeping secrets. The key sticks too. Jiggle left, then right, then left again. Welcome home.