She stood in the doorway wearing Pink sweats and holding a child. Baby girl kept pointing at the man on the steps. Reaching out to him. Wanting to touch him. Mom kept slapping her arm down each time she pointed.

Some TV show was on in the background. A man saying he wasn’t the father and a woman insisting that he was. Screaming and yelling at each other. Chairs thrown. A large bald man trying to break up a fight. Audience members cheering them on.

He kept looking at the mother and child. A cigarette dangled from his mouth. A can of Dr. Pepper sweated in his hand. Moisture formed on his upper lip.

We like to keep things quiet round here mame, he said as the kid squirmed. I heard yelling last night through the vents. I can hear everything through the vents, he winked at her. I hear your television. Your kid. And you two screaming at each other, she bowed her head.

Some of us like to sleep at night, he told her, took a drag from his Marlboro. Peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask? she shook her head. I mean, you two yell at each other all the time. And when you’re not yelling, you’re screwing, she turned red. Yeah, he said. I hear that, too. And then I’m up all night. Making scrambled eggs or eating chips and salsa while you two go at it. Sounds like you want to kill each other.

We’ll keep it down, she said. We’ll keep it down, she told him as she began shutting the door.

Could you? Could you just keep it down? I would appreciate it, she nodded, the baby cried, and he stepped off the front porch. The fat man could feel her looking at him as he walked back to his apartment. Some folks, he said. Some folks.