"Ew," says Lichelle, her manicured fingernail picking at a buckled corner of countertop laminate. "I thought we agreed that granite is a must."
"And look at this," says Aiden, "Would you just look." He opens the oven and he opens the dishwasher, and when they are all the way down the doors overlap. "How are we supposed to get any work done in here?"
Lichelle and Aiden flit around the space, calling out flaws to the realtor that anxiously tails them. This condo is a third-floor end unit, one bedroom one bath, and "open concept" in the sense that the entryway and dining room and living room are all the same room. Duct tape holds a small section of the ceiling/molding in place. Lichelle gestures toward it and the realtor notes it on the growing list of complaints:
More than the acceptable number of holes in the ceiling
Kitchen too small
Counters not granite
Spiders living in windowframes
Ugly paint in closet/office
Some sort of nest in the closet/office
Two people asleep in bedroom (rude)
Bathroom tiles crooked
Walls are too lime green
Carpets are not hardwood floors
Broken lock on door to hallway
Building's security door easily forced
Matthew wakes to the sound of early-morning traffic. He climbs out of bed, stretches, runs a hand through his hair. He stumbles to the kitchen and fixes himself a bowl of cereal and spills it when he trips over the oven and dishwasher doors.