The Occupant’s front door was a white, faux-wood, 6-paneled piece that was actually made of out relatively cheap slab steel. Odd, dingy grey splotches seemed to flower forth from the door handle,and another, larger, dingy grey splotch appeared three feet above the door knob. It all seemed quite random and odd, until you took into account The Occupants pathologically predictable alcoholism. Habitually stumbling home drunk, he would miss the keyhole on his door handle several times, slowly but surely imbuing the white paint surrounding it with the oil from his knuckles, and, after inevitablely missing a few times, his head would slump forward and his the door, allowing the grease from his forehead to seep into the paint over the years. It would not have been noticeable if it had only happened once or twice, but this had been at least a biweekly occurrence for the past four years. Damp, dim, and dreary, the Kensington street was magnificent in all of its’ autumnal glory. Wind had swept empty paper cartons of brown highly-sweetened Arctic Breez Ice tea next to orange crumpled bags of Cheez Doodles into garbage drifts that amassed next to the famous Philadelphia stoops, leaving all the colors of Fall there, absent the leaves.         The Occupant meekly strode down the street, keeping his eyes to the ground, desperately hoping to avoid contact with any human who might call himself his neighbor. Once he had progressed past this block he could safely ignore other humans, but until then, he would have to interact with any human who chose to talk to him. To do otherwise would be unneighborly. Dirty Frank, 35 but looking 48, a white man with a closely cropped crew cut, wearing a cheap white t-shirt, and tattered blue jeans. Frank was a native Kenzo, something The Occupant could never be. He was oddly comfortable in his squalid environment, as were all Kenzos. Squarely jawed, with a large forehead, he had piercingly blue eyes, slightly watery with pronounced red capillaries webbing the dull yellow sclera that signaled his impending liver failure. Overall, he had the appearance of being honest, and hard. Recently released from a prolonged imprisonment, he was happy to be back to his depressingly post-industrial homeland.         “How’s it going, boss?” Frank spoke with rough, guttural, and oddly genuine friendliness. He seemed like he was certain that everything was going to get better from this point on, and his unapologetic optimism in the face of an objectively miserable existence disquieted The Occupant.         “I’m doing alright, just school, work, you know, the usual bullshit” The Occupant Lied.         “Good to hear man. Yo, if you want to come over later, Imma have a few people over my place later tonight.” Frank’s place was his elderly mother’s basement. His people were crackheads.         “Yeah, I might be able to swing through. I just have to see how much school work I have to do. I’ll knock on your door if I am free.” The Occupant Lied again.         They parted ways with by grasping each others’ right hand, and pulling each other in with a half hug, as was tradition in Philadelphia. Thankful for the consummation of his brief encounter with another human who had genuine interest in him, The Occupant walked on, hoping he wouldn’t have to see Frank again today. The streets of Kensington were lonesome, and The Occupant preferred it that way. He walked, passing empty lots that were full of trash, his steps crunching and crackling as empty glass heroin vials snapped beneath his feet.         The bar he went to was crowded outside, with boisterous Union Members mulling around, eager for their first beer of the day, which traditionally came 45 minutes after they had consumed their first coffee. Although The Occupant made far less than them in monetary terms, they thought of him as an upper-class fellow, due to the fact that he perpetually showed up to the bar wearing his work clothing, which was oftentimes a tuxedo, or at least a buttoned down shirt with a vest and tie.         Wearing worn jeans, with construction company t-shirts and orange visibility vests, the jovial Union crews parted way as the solemn Occupant made his way into the bar for the first time of the day.