Max, Part 3 - "THA-WONK," the old volume hit the thinly carpeted floor. Max did a double take.

How'd that happen?  He wondered, since he hadn't even set foot in that part of the room.  The vent was on this side, not that side.  As busy as max was - nothing usual there - our young hvac hero held a deep respect for old books.  He set aside the vent cover, walked over to where the volume lay - minus the few pages that fell out, and landed nearby.  He inserted the missing pages, all but one.  That one, for some reason - and he didn't even think about it, but he read part of page before inserting that into its rightful place within the volume.  Unsure, whether the book had fallen from the 2nd or the top of the 3-tiered wally-world shelf, Max simply placed the ladge-print volume.   Somehow, he knew the apartment's tenant wouldn't make a fuss.

No, it wouldn't be until a bit later, that he would think about the portion of which he had read.  For now, his mind was on the here and now - and here, he had totally forgotten some other papers, about which he needed to see the tax collector.  Max didn't like the guy; why Pop continued to do business with him...?  Yeah, yeah, second or third cousin and all ... still, the guy was  ... that was a daytime-drama in itself.

Outside, the sleet was finally starting to let up - weather report said it would be moving out around 2-ish.  Three other jobs yet, and he hoped to be done around seven.  After which his big evening plans included going back to his apartment and, hopefully, getting atleast a half-hot shower.

For as much rent he was paying ... but then again, he couldn't blame the landlady.  She had the same problems Max had in finding reliable people to do work.  And on top of that, Max had noticed the evening before yesterday, another "Notice..." posted on the door of a nearby unit.  While he didn't know the tenant, nor really cared to, the probable reason ... well, it showed.  The balcony was a mess, and the sliding glass door looked as if it hadn't seen, for too long, so much as a mist of glass cleaner.

It had been a year and a couple months since he had moved in, and within that short amount of time, it was evident enough, the complex was not its former self.  Granted, Westgate was no Martha's, but when Max moved in, no parent had to worry overmuch if junior forgot to lock his bicycle, or left his leather baseball glove sit out on one of the plastic picnic tables.

Back in 2021, the mail is waiting to be picked up.