The Storage Space was simply desolated by the scene playing out in Unit 38, simply desolated. Now both the middle-aged woman who’d been in Unit 3 and the pregnant teenager, both very visibly the victims of physical violence, were convulsed with tears and clinging to each other most desperately. On the exceedingly rare occasions when either of them could squeeze a word out between their sobs, the pregnant teenager could only say, “Mom!” and the middle-aged woman could only say, “my dearest chlld!”
Who the fuck cares?
The Storage Space was aghast! Where had that most rude and utterly inappropriate thought come from?
Neither of them dumb bitches ever played their cards right!
The Storage Space knew then.
Not enough tittie between the two of them to grab in one hand, if I still had a hand.
The Storage Space would have screamed, if only a building could…
Even that homeless drunk Hank had enough sense to clear out, even if he didn’t have enough sense to hold on to that fucking bottle and let it clatter down all those fucking stairs.
The Storage Space was beside itself.
I’m outta here.
The Storage Space felt all those spastic shudders, completely impossible for a building to feel. Then…suddenly, blessedly…a profound relief as it watched green mist seep out of its every crack and cranny.
The green mist swirled backwards and forward a bit, just as a strange man appeared in the hall, and then swirled out a window and was gone.
The pregnant teenager looked up at the strange man. Her eyes widened even more than before and the next time she managed to squeeze a word out between her sobs it wasn’t, “Mom!” It was, “Dad?”
