“Brawwwwwk.” Sydney squawked. “Watsrong?”

Ashley was buried in a mess of cardboard boxes and old files, digging through crinkled, yellowed papers.

“Watsrong?” Sydney repeated. He was perched on Aurelio’s shoulder.

“What are you looking for, Ash?” Aurelio squatted down beside him, offering to help.

Ashley was visibly frustrated; he stopped his digging and let his head hang.

“Ash?”

“Shut up, will you?” Ashley snapped angrily and glared at him. “What are you even still doing here?”

It left Aurelio shocked, speechless even. “Uhh,” he drew back, “I was just offering….”

“I knew it,” Ashley interrupted, standing up, having found whatever it was he was looking for. “I fucking knew this would happen someday.”

Stam turned to Aurelio, who was still squatted down and looking very dejected. “You should go.”

“Both of you should go,” Ashley hissed. “I need people to leave me alone for five fucking minutes.” He began studying a piece of paper while Stam and Aurelio stood behind him in silence. Only Sydney was brave enough to make a sound.

“Braaaaaawk.”

“… What do you wanna do?” Aurelio whispered to Stam, lest he somehow further enrage Ashley.

She was quiet until she looked over to her metal case by the couch. “We should leave him alone. Can you wait outside?”

“Uh, I guess, yeah.” He was still baffled by his friend’s uncharacteristic outburst, but seemed to grasp that whatever the issue was at present, it was private. He tapped on Sydney’s perch and the bird carefully shuffled down his arm and onto the stand before squawking again as he settled.

“I’ll go get my car started.” Aurelio headed toward the door and disappeared through it.

“He was upset,” Stam pointed out to Ashley, who had yet to look up from whatever he was examining.

“I’m upset,” Ashley growled back, tossing the document to the table and turning to Stam. “I’ve had that car for over twenty years. Never had a problem. I got one parking ticket—one—in 1980.”

“I’m sorry,” Stam replied. “But we can get a new one.”

Ashley sighed and fished in his pocket for his cell phone. It was set to a silent mode, and incidentally, receiving an incoming call. He tossed it onto the kitchen table, where it began to vibrate and shake across the surface. “All day,” he grumbled, watching it. “The police called earlier, and after I hung up, they’ve been calling back all day.” He sighed. “Your phone was in the car. If they look up the provider and the plan….”

“Then they have my name.” Stam was beginning to follow him.

“And our address,” Ashley finished, mournfully shaking his head. “Attached to a stolen car.”

Stam seemed to understand the severity of the situation. “What do you want to do?”

“I know I don’t want to move,” Ashley grumbled, looking at his records, the metal and plastic fixtures and cabinets, the inconspicuously-blocked windows—all the things which made the home so uniquely his. He had yet to finish when the phone, which had stopped rumbling, began once more, and a look of both defeat and disgust crossed his face.

“And I’m not very good with police.”