“I don’t think we’re going to make it home for dinner,” she called out to her partner.
“Oh?” he yelled from the top of the basement steps. His voice echoed off the row of coin operated washers and driers between the creaky stairs and the hole in the wall I was standing in, staring down a damp corridor.
I looked back his way and saw him lumbering down the steps. He really needed to lay off the doughnuts. “I mean, unless all suburban apartment complexes now come equipped with skeletons stacked hip-deep in hidden catacombs. And rats. So many rats.”