Small Hours at the Bellwether

Merrit shows you the switchboard, the ledger, the kettle, and which of the lobby lamps you have to hit rather than switch, and then she puts her coat on and is gone by four minutes past eleven, which you suspect is a personal record. The lobby settles. Somewhere above you a radiator knocks twice and stops. On the desk, in handwriting that is not Merrit’s, someone has left a note that says only: 14 takes tea at two. Don’t knock.