The guy accepts my response without suspicion and walks away to join his friends, who continue chatting and laughing. I am left alone with my thoughts as I make my way towards the exit.
I return to the place I live, an old apartment complex built primarily of wood, showing unmistakable signs of age and neglect.
The outer planks, once sturdy, are now rotting and warped by moisture; some jut out dangerously, while others display deep cracks running through the structure like scars.
Every step on the sidewalk produces a faint creaking sound, a sinister reminder that the entire structure could collapse at any moment.
The building consists solely of a ground floor, with a total of five apartments arranged along a central hallway.
The doors of the other apartments, all visible from where I stand, bear the evident marks of years of wear and neglect.
The door of the apartment next to mine is covered in scratches and stains, left by the numerous tenants who have lived there.
The door of the apartment belonging to an elderly person who rarely ventures out has a loose handle and a surface marred by dings and scratches.
Other doors, such as that of a kind lady who occasionally offers me snacks or leftovers, emit a persistent smell of cigarette smoke and show poorly executed repairs and noticeable scratches.
Finally, I arrive at my door, located at the end of the hallway. I insert the key and enter my apartment. Immediately, I notice a few cockroaches scuttling away at the sound of the door closing behind me. This presence is now a regular occurrence, a further sign of the dilapidation of the place I call home.
The room is tiny, barely large enough to contain me. To the left of the entrance, an old, rusted stove, the only source of heat during the winter months, is situated a few feet from the wall, next to a worn and stained futon, its padding now depleted by time.
In the center of the room is a low table, its surface scratched and covered with some open books and dirty glasses, remnants of my attempts to find comfort in reading and the little food I can afford.
To my right is a rudimentary kitchenette. A couple of shelves above a small counter hold a few kitchen utensils: a blackened pan, some dented pots, and a dull knife that has seen better days.
On the counter are a used cutting board and a portable gas stove that barely works, completing the makeshift culinary space.
In a corner, near the back wall, stands an old refrigerator. Its exterior is yellowed with age and stained with rust. The motor emits a constant hum, indicating that it struggles to perform its primary function.
Inside, there are probably only a few leftovers and a bottle of water, the basic necessities I can afford with my meager salary.
The walls of the room are bare, with paint peeling in places, revealing the underlying plaster. The only window, covered by a thin curtain greyed by dust, lets in a weak light, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.
It's a desolate environment, but the only one I can afford. Without even taking off my shoes, I collapse onto the futon, feeling the exhaustion and pain of the day weigh heavily on me.
I wake up to indistinct noises mixed with unfamiliar voices, resonating like a distant echo. The rhythmic sound of raindrops falling on metal surfaces and cobblestones joins this chorus of sounds, creating an unsettling atmosphere.
"Where am I?" I think, my mind confused as my eyes snap open and my thoughts are still foggy from sleep. I realize I'm in a narrow, cramped alley.
The floor is wet from the rain, and water trickles slowly along the street, faintly reflecting the lights of the few functioning street lamps. The sky above is covered by a thick layer of gray clouds.
The last thing I remember is falling asleep on the old, dusty futon in my apartment, exhausted after a long day of classes and studying.
Have I been kidnapped? But I quickly shake my head, dismissing the absurd idea. Why would anyone kidnap me and then leave me in an alley like this? It makes no sense. Whoever did this would gain nothing from such an act.
Still confused, I slowly get up, feeling my legs tremble slightly under the weight of uncertainty.
I move towards the alley's exit, my footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones. When I finally emerge from the shadows, I am left breathless.