It's insane what some people will do to get a good cup of espresso in this town.

If you'd lived in the building as long as some of its residents have, you'd know two important things about its superintendent Nestoras: He doesn't like dogs very much, and he's not a fan of wearing much in the way of clothing during his off hours. Most people figure out the first bit fairly quickly. The second part requires that you knock on his apartment door during off hours.

Like former tenant Alan is doing, for instance, for the first and last time.

Alan gasps as Nestoras pulls back the door, revealing his red satin robe-clad splendor. He mistakes the thick carpet of chest hair spilling out to be a large rodent's and begins to back away as the superintendent brings his latte cup to his lips, furrows his unibrow and says, "Can I help you with something?"

Alan catches his breath and tries desperately not to look down. "I'm, uh, here about some things I left in my apartment when I moved out. Specifically an Espressione Supremma Espresso machine."

"Oh yeah," Nestoras says. "The guy who's been making trouble for me with management." His free hand reaches up and slips fingers into his dark, wooly chest forest. As he itches, tiny flakes of dandruff sprinkle down onto his belly. "It's like I told them, I don't remember seeing anything in there when I cleaned up except some pet-stained carpet and claw marks a few of the doors. I took care of all that stuff, though."

Alan tries focusing on things just behind Nestoras as he speaks: the clock on the wall, the large plant in the corner... "Are you sure? Normally, I wouldn't make such a fuss, but my wife swears she left it on the kitchen counter. Maybe if I describe it to you, you'll remember. It's big and grey, with nice touch screen, 8.8 oz coffee bean capacity, and a steam wand on the front for frothing milk. There's a 1.8 liter removable water tank and a fully programmable ceramic doser and grinder, too. Professional grade, all the way. You really can't miss-"

Alan stops talking as his eyes settle on the machine on Nestoras' kitchen counter. "Actually," he says, pointing, "it looks an awful lot like the one you have there. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's mine!"

Nestoras looks over and chuckles as light shimmers against the material of his robe . "Yours? Nah, I don't think so. Though, come to think of it, I do remember finding the instructional DVD for something just like that in a stack of other movies you had stashed just above the closet door in the bedroom."

The color drains from Alan's face. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, real raunchy stuff. I figured you and your wife might be missing them, so I packed them up and sent them to the address you gave Management. I imagine they'll get to you any day now." Nestoras takes another sip and shivers. "Look, are we done here? I think I'm catching a draft."

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