A forecasted snow-bearing Christmas was three days away. The sun was climbing out of the deep well of winter, but it was still brutally cold. The living room lacked a Christmas tree. No stockings hung above the fireplace. The landlord, Mr. Stevens, wanted the back rent paid or me out in days. Stevens would have kicked me out months ago, but the federal rent moratorium tied his pale fingers in double knots. Times had fallen on me hard. I had no job. And not for lack of trying.
(Erica Orloff edited this short story.)
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