Tabula Rasa

“Shit.” Leaning over the edge of the balcony she watched it tumble through the air briefly before smashing on the balcony of the flat below, the ice-cubes from her drink skidding across the floor. She sighed, walked back through her flat and down the stairs to the flat below. She pressed the buzzer and waited. No-one came to the door. No sound inside but the faint undulating hum of a fan. She pressed it again, starting to perspire in the stuffy corridor. No response. She turned to leave. “What do you want?” a voice abruptly shot out behind her. A man stood in the doorway wearing a crumpled cheap black suit, as though he had been sleeping in it. It was a Saturday. “I dropped a glass.” She said, by way of explanation. “A what?” “A glass. It dropped and smashed on your balcony.” He looked visibly annoyed, as though he couldn’t fathom why she would tell him this. “Do you want it back?” “Well, no, I guess not, I just thought-”. “Well then.” He snorted derisively. “I -“. He shut the door. She frowned and a fly crawled up the back of her neck.