Max wants a way back into the building, but the front door is locked. He goes around back, but the side door—sheet metal, aluminum maybe—is locked also. 

        The handle is cold to the touch. Sirens in the distance growing nearer. There’s the moon in the morning. Seems to be listening, Max thinks. Seems to be on my movements. Shake it off, man. He slides past the bushes, which empty their water on the back of his coat, and makes his way between the dumpsters to the back exit. Also locked. Doors to buildings open out. Doors to rooms open in. But this back exit seems to open inward. A light goes on in a flat on the second floor and then it shuts off just as quickly. Max holds his breath. A window. A grate. Should I wait for somebody to come out and see if I can’t slip past them inside?

        He looks at his watch. It’s 5:02am. He knows that he still smells of vodka and smoke. His mouth tastes of ash. His hands are cold. His nose is red. The sirens are upon the front of the building and when he peeks around the corner, a firetruck is there. If someone’s flat is on fire, he’ll make his way in with the firemen. What are they gonna do, card him? He heads back around the side of the building feeling the brickwork along the way and then stops short.

        The firetruck is waiting there. An ambulance rolls up behind the truck, but nothing seems to be happening. It’s still dark, though the sky is starting to bruise with morning light. It’s too cold for May, he thinks. But his heart is starting to race. A paramedic gets out of the ambulance and walks up to the front of the firetruck. A fireman rolls down his window. They say something to one another that Max can’t hear. 

        The medic turns, looks at the front of the building, and then reaches to his breast pocket to remove a pack of cigarettes. What the fuck, Max thinks, is going on? Is it an emergency or not? The porch light over the entryway is still lit. He never thought of it before, but it must be on some kind of timer. The medic is smoking. The firetruck shuts its engine off. Max needs to get inside before he’s found out. Had somebody called them on him? 

        Impossible, he thinks. Impossible. Unless Harry….? No way. Max decides to ask the medic what’s going on, but doesn’t want to get to close. He comes all the way out and the medic takes his cigarette out of his mouth.

        —You pranked us?

        —What?

        —You called for us when it was nothing?

        —I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just came out to see what was going on.

        The door of the firetruck opens and a fireman steps out. He’s got on full regalia, ready for flames, minus his hat. He looks Max over, head to toe, sneers and then turns to the medic.

        —This the joker?

        —Nah, he’s a fucking waster.

        They share a laugh. Max puts his hands up, like what the hell did I ever do?

        —You live in those bushes?

        —No, I just came by to pick something up.

        —Sure you did.

        The fireman leans against the truck, folds his arms. The medic smokes and looks at the wet street with a kind of weary affectation.

        —What was the call?

        —Somebody said the building was engulfed in flames.

        —Maybe it’s the wrong address?

        —Maybe you should mind your own fucking business.

        Max doesn’t look homeless does he? I mean, it’s been a rough few weeks, but he can’t figure out why they’re speaking to him like this.

        —Run along now, pal.

        —I live here.

        —Sure you do.

        —I lost my keys. Actually they were stolen.

        The medic throws down his cigarette and the fireman shrugs. The door to the building opens and woman emerges partway. She’s wearing a long terrycloth robe. She gathers the fabric at her throat.

        —Are you coming in or not?

        Max has never seen her before, but her voice is familiar somehow.

        —We had a call that—

        —I know what the call was. I made it myself.

        The fireman’s demeanor changes. Another firefighter and two other medics exit their vehicles and join them on the street, where they’re now five. They all wait at attention for her to say something else.

        —This way.

        They follow her inside and the last medic—a woman—holds the door for Max to follow them into the building.

        —I live here, he says. I just lost my keys.

        The medic says nothing to him, and Max watches as the six of them proceed past the mailboxes and up the stairs. It’s a great commotion, but nobody is saying a word now.

        Max is inside. He’s made it in. He doesn’t know what all that was about, but relief floods through him. He’s back. No key to his flat, but he’ll have to wake up Harry or Beth. At least it’s morning. 

        Max heads up the stairs and sees that the three medics and two firefighters are standing outside his apartment door. The woman in the robe has her door on the handle.

        Max opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself.

        —It’s very strange, the woman says.

        —I’m sure it’s alright if you managed to put it out.

        —No, she says, it’s…everything.

        She opens the door and then stands aside. There’s a gasp. Somebody whistles. More talking, but Max can’t make it out as they all file into his apartment. 

        The woman in the robe looks at him down the hall, and Max just stands there.

        —Who are you?

        —I lost my keys, so I just came in with them. What happened?

        —See for yourself.

        The woman in the robe doesn’t seem upset. She seems tired. Irritated maybe, but if there’s been some fire she’d managed to put out, she doesn’t seem at all flustered by it.

        —I…okay.

        Max wants to tell her that he lives there, that it’s his apartment, but decides he can’t do this since he’s vanished two weeks ago, skipping out on rent, having taken all the money out of Harry’s wallet. He has to assume that this woman is Harry’s girlfriend? He doesn’t know. He’s not thinking clearly.

        Max heads down the hall toward his door. He can see the medics and firefighters standing inside. But there’s nothing beyond them.

        —It’s been gutted, the woman says.

        —I don’t understand…

        Max steps inside and everything’s the same—same sofa, same television, same kitchen—only the walls are made of glass. The flat’s become a transparent cube.

        —Look what the cat dragged in, Harry says.

        He’s standing on the kitchen’s glass floor, in a t-shirt and sweats. 

        —Hey, Harry, I’m—

        Harry waves this off, like never mind. The medics and firefighters are all looking around the apartment, or rather through the apartment to the pipes and wires beyond the glass partitions. If you get close enough—and can see past the plumbing and ventilation systems housed within—you can plainly see into all the other apartments: one on either side, one above, and one below as well.

        —This wasn’t no fire.

        —No shit.

        —What the fuck is this?

        The female medic places her bare hand on the glass. It seems normal. Everything’s normal, only the entire apartment is made of glass. 

        The nameless woman in the robe has come back into the apartment and said the dispatcher didn’t believe her, so she lied and said everything was on fire.

        —I just told her that so she’d send somebody. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.

        Nobody seems to notice or care. The three medics and two firefighters are dumbstruck, looking around, peering through the wires and pipes into the other apartments all around them.

        Max just stands there and watches them.

        —Glass…

        —You can see everything.

        A light flips on above and everybody looks up through the ceiling to see somebody step into the main room of their apartment on the next floor up. Bare feet. There’s a cry. And the light goes out.