This is the story of a young man. A grown man.

Today is nothing new but just another day of the week. The alarm will buzz
the young man out of deep sleep. But it will be the thunderstorms that will
finally throw him out of the comfortable bed. The rain is in no mood to stop.

The young man will fight the urge to keep sleeping for another hour or so,
but the other not-so-young side of his will urge him to start the day. The
papers won’t stay plain white sheets for too long. There is work to be done.
The young man will write yet again for the whole day under the thorough
guidance of the not-so-young man. Until he is unable to keep his eyes open. He
will go to sleep and wake up to the alarming sounds of the phone alarm and
start the whole routine all over again. He will get paid well for his work. For
the stories, he insists on being told. But no one will know who he is. He will
be a ghost to them forever. Exactly who he is, a ghost to the world. A man lives
in apartment 7B, but no one has ever seen him. A few think he smokes weed and
sleeps all day because his apartment is always smelling weird, even though no
one has ever seen the inside of it. Others believe he works for the stock
market because of all the boxes that get delivered to his apartment door. He
must be a wealthy man. But nobody even hears him make a sound. Though some
neighbors have complained sounds of tippy-tippy-tap-tap on quiet afternoons
disturb their yoga sessions. Funny how yoga refuses to work for the perpetual

Thankfully, the thunderstorm today has drowned out the tippy-tap sounds.
Tomorrow he will be heard by a few and read by many. One of the teenagers, who
is the son of a single mother in 7C will notice his long wavy hair when he will
open the door to take a food delivery from doordash. The young man has to eat.
His words will be read. His stories will be retold. But he will remain a ghost
just like his name.

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