The Light Stealer

“Do you mind if I steal your light?”

The question came through the glass, silent and invisible, but I heard the shape of it in the way his mouth moved. I was sitting at my drafting desk in the corner of my fourth-floor apartment on Mercer Street, staring at the blueprints for the new municipal library, when the bulb above my head buzzed once and died. The entire block went black, save for the window directly opposite mine, across the narrow alleyway.

It was Andre’s window.