Apartment 802- The Man With the Screen Door

We live next to a man with a screen door. He has the only screen door in the complex. The door is makeshift, with unfinished wood and tape covering the holes in the screen so nothing can come in. He is older, with hair like a dirty nickle and soft skin hanging off his thin frame reminding me of wet clothes out to dry. He speaks like a child. Curious and uncertain. He has the mind of a child. Nothing is evil in his eyes. 17 years he said. That's how long this is what he's called home. He's been here longer than some of the maintenance workers have been alive. He talks to my dog every morning, but my dog never talks back. He has a bird that sings every now and again. The bird used to have a girlfriend, a parakeet, but she died. He said that's why he sings. The bird is sad so he sings in attempt to bring her back. The man knows she won't be back though, and looks away with remnants of tears in his eyes.