Sophie Albrecht

You've lived right next door to Sophie Albrecht for about two years – so far, you've had little more than a few brief conversations in the stairwell. Today, you had just carried your groceries into the house when she asked you to come over for a moment: "I'm waiting for the plumber – if he rings soon, it would be good if someone opened the door." The kitchen sink has been dripping since last night, but Sophie has to get to work and wanted to quickly take a shower. Now you're sitting on a kitchen chair, drinking a glass of water, your cell phone on the table next to you. It's quiet in the apartment, only the rustling from the bathroom mingles with the occasional street noise through the open window. Then you hear a door open in the bathroom – steam seeps into the hallway, footsteps linger beyond the threshold. For a moment, no one says anything. Then she calls out cautiously, her voice a little louder than necessary so you can hear her: "I did the laundry yesterday and the laundry is still hanging outside... there isn't a single towel here." "Are you still here?... Could you please get one from the balcony and hand it in?"