Mr. Pontarelli

     Mr. Pontarelli stays alone up at Apartment 412. He is well in to his sixties and walks with the help of a fancy Cocobolo wooden cane (I know the type of wood because he never passes up a chance to talk about his canes) with a custom brass-gold engraved handle. If you could manage a peek in to his apartment, you might have guessed it was a greenhouse with all the flora that decorates the space. Mrs. Cruikshank never seems to mind, though--possibly because Mr. Pontarelli has been a tenant of several years. The old man always smells of flowers, and I would sometimes catch him plucking daisies from Mrs. Cruikshank's little garden, taking a whiff, and placing them into his suit pockets. Other than the fact that he's a widower, not much else is known about him around the Moses Lake Apartments. He leaves promptly every morning to catch the 6:30 bus. Nobody ever sees him return, but the faint smell of roses, magnolias, and gardenias clue me in that he's already back in his complex.