Cesar nods and waves the apology away, apparently unbothered. Then he makes a couple of signs, watching Tony just long enough to confirm that no, they still mean nothing to him. That's fine. He turns and walks to the dining-room table, where his tablet is propped up from previous use.
The apartment isn't as cluttered with papers as the last time. Sure, printouts peek from between books and objects on shelves, but the apartment looks less like a man's mind that has been taken over by his intellectual escapes, and more like a comfortable home that's only half-lived-in. His old apartment had never had that trouble: he'd had favorite bowls for filling with chips and salsa. He'd had a couch that smelled of sleepy afternoons, and a TV-remote whose volume-up button always had to be pressed extra hard. This apartment, by contrast, has a bare coffee table, a new-ish couch, and a TV that's gathering some dust.
Cesar lifts his tablet and turns it to face him. 'Don't worry about it. You were still faster than I would have been.'
no subject
The apartment isn't as cluttered with papers as the last time. Sure, printouts peek from between books and objects on shelves, but the apartment looks less like a man's mind that has been taken over by his intellectual escapes, and more like a comfortable home that's only half-lived-in. His old apartment had never had that trouble: he'd had favorite bowls for filling with chips and salsa. He'd had a couch that smelled of sleepy afternoons, and a TV-remote whose volume-up button always had to be pressed extra hard. This apartment, by contrast, has a bare coffee table, a new-ish couch, and a TV that's gathering some dust.
Cesar lifts his tablet and turns it to face him. 'Don't worry about it. You were still faster than I would have been.'