The Letter from Pruitt

On Wednesday morning, Lina came in for breakfast after her night shift and found Gus at the end of the counter, typing on Bev's old laptop with two fingers. He was typing very hard, as if the keys had insulted him.

"Gus is writing a letter," said Bev, pouring Lina's coffee, in the voice of someone announcing a fire.

Lina looked over Gus's shoulder. The letter was in capital letters.

MR PRUITT. YOU ARE A THIEF. FORTY PERCENT?? I HAVE PAID YOU RENT FOR TWENTY-TWO YEARS. NEVER LATE. NOT ONE DAY. YOU CAN TAKE YOUR NEW LEASE AND

"Gus," said Lina gently. "Stop."

Gus stopped. He looked up at her. His eyes were tired and red, and for the first time since Lina had known him, he looked his age.

"He wants forty percent more," he said. "From October. I can't pay that. Nobody can pay that. If I can't pay, I close. Twenty-two years, and I close, because a man in an office in Calgary wants a new boat."