"It's an old building," Becky said, when Peter asked her. "Do you get them in your apartment, too?" She'd given him a look, then, as if she thought he was trying to score an invite into her place, as if this was anything more than doormat chatter. As if he was interested in women, anyway. When she reached the stairs, she looked back at him, just a glance, unreadable and strange and he'd dropped his keys. When he looked up again, vaguely embarrassed at his fumbling, she'd gone. As soon as the dawn sun pawed between the blinds, Peter was awake and studying them again: the cracks. They were har