t, the scent of decay continues. He loved it that way. It made him aware that everything was ephemeral. His pen scratched pointedly across a student's paper, the kind

ntest scent of Charlotte's lavender sachets. He kept it in the lining. No one knew that. Downstairs, the hallway reserved for staff resounded with end-of-term chatter. Laughter. Announcements. Plans. He quickened his steps, cutting through the sound like a sound that drifted like a whisper from the grave. The parking area was partially full, except for one obnoxiously parked Mini Cooper blocking his car. He stood still for a moment, his teeth ground together. Of course. Mrs. Adele. The widow in 3C. His neighbor for seven years. An unapologetic widow with a loud voice and sharper opinions. She taught piano in her hay days, constantly wore oversized sunglasses even in winter, and left her recycling bins half in the road. Mrs Adele's silver hatchback was parked half a foot too close to Professor Hargreaves' bumper in the narrow drive. Leonardo knocked motionlessly on the driver's side window. She rolled the window down slowly. "Oh. Professor Grump." "You're blocking my car," the Professor said. "Would it be so impossible for you to respect boundaries? Or should I drive through your car next time?" The professor asked. Mrs. Adele came out angrily from her car. "Excuse me, professor?" "You parked too close." he snapped. "Oh, so I am now the obstacle in your life?" "Some of us still need to get on with our lives." Mrs Adele narrowed her eyes. He folded his arms, his anger rising like She squinted over her sungla