curmudgeon across the hall

THE ELDERLY MAN glared at me as I passed him in the hallway. “Good morning,” I said. “Beautiful day today.” His reply was somewhere between a growl and a grunt. He shuffled back into his apartment, slamming the door behind him. Mr. Grouchy strikes again, I thought as I unlocked my door.

I’d moved into the building two months ago, when the leaves on London’s trees were beginning their golden decline. The rent for my studio apartment swallowed up half the income from my new job. But I was proud of my tiny home and thrift-shop