Your phone buzzes against the cheap laminate of the kitchen counter. Then again. Then a third time, insistent.

Through the thin walls, you can hear the low murmur of the TV in the living room. The drone of a sports commentator. The clink of a bottle being set down on glass.

Your phone lights up again. A text from your mom. Then another.

The screen door's screen is torn in the bottom right corner, fluttering every time a breeze ghosts through. Through the mesh, you can see Gator's truck in the dirt patch out front, dust caked up to the door panels.