008

                                    

                                          
            Ms. Cole was as human as one could get. She was the boring landlady who visited the building for exactly three days at the beginning of each month, so that she could collect rent, bitch about the state of the place whilst ignoring the overflowing maintenance request bin, and tack a monthly newsletter printed on colored copy printer with reminders of lease violations she'd never dole out. This month it was a reminder that burning candles was a fire hazard and a lease violation, and Knox would've felt wary if he'd had enough money to regularly purchase candles. 
                          
            Speaking of money, he was short on rent by exactly forty-three dollars and sixty-two cents. 
                          
            There was no one in the office when he got there, so he lingered awkwardly, reading the dingy corkboard of random flyers of lost animals that had likely never been found, paper faded and curling at the edges from age. There was a particularly cute cat named Mr. Pickles that had went missing five years ago, and Knox sincerely hoped that someone had found him, and that he was still living the cushy house cat life he deserved. 
                          
            He was busy looking at the faded pictures of the previous landlords, apparently the building had been in the Cole family for two generations prior to the current one, but he couldn't imagine that anyone would want to own it after Ms. Cole. He figured once she died it'd be demolished for asbestos hazards. Knox was looking forward to being entitled to financial compensation for the mesothelioma he'd inevitably develop after living here. 
                          
            "Mr. Jameson!" He turned at the sound of a raspy voice, gravely from years of smoking, and faced Ms. Cole. Her printed blouse hung off her skinny frame, she moved to sit in front of her archaic desktop, chair creaking dangerously under her weight, "How can I help you, sweetie?" 
                          
            "Uhm, I'm here to pay my rent, but I'm sort of short, not by much though, it's only by less than fifty dollars. I promise I'll have the rest next week, and I'll even pay interest, if you'd like." He said, hands prickling with sweat. She wasn't known for being lenient about rent, and he couldn't get kicked out. He hadn't been able to pick up any other shifts at the convenience store in time and hadn't had the time to pick up any sort of odd jobs as he tried to catch up on schoolwork. 
                          
            It'd be hard to find another apartment in the city, and he supposed he could apply for student housing, but that would probably be by next year at the earliest and his tuition would go up, and then he'd have to hear from his parents. He'd have to be homeless in the meantime too, which wouldn't be so bad if he had a car, but he could get by. He could use wifi and electrical outlets on campus and at cafes, and maybe even shower in the school locker rooms when they were empty. The only real problem would be finding a place to sleep, but he would have to sell his furniture so with the money from that he could probably invest in a really nice sleeping bag and just tough it out. He'd have more money for food too without having bills for rent, electricity, and water every month. 
                          
            "Your rent for the next six months has been paid for, Mr. Jameson." Ms. Cole said, looking at her monitor through her reading glasses. 
                          
            "I swear I'll have it next week, I just—wait what?" 
                          
            "It's been paid for." She repeated, "You won't have a payment again until March." 
                          
            Knox stared at her blankly, disbelieving. He expected her to burst out laughing any moment, then she'd tell him what a loser he was and there'd be an eviction notice on his door in the morning. A minute passed and he was looking at him over her cat-frames, brows pinched in confusion. 
                          
            "By who?" He asked, wondering if his parents somehow had a change of heart and decided to start caring for their only child. 
                          
            "I'm unsure. A very polite man with an accent called my work number and gave me the billing information over the phone. The account is under a Valentine Hawthorne." She hummed, "He said he was a part of the housing non-profit with the local college. It's so nice that they really care about their students."