Wino, like other busy bees of The U, was up and about in the early morning hours. He paced out of his bedroom with a minty-fresh morning smile. Wino made his way into the kitchen in his socks, white shirt, ruby-red tie, and leather briefcase. On his couch lied a lump on a log swathed in blankets. Ibrahim wouldn’t budge or even react to any of the noises he heard. The toaster popped up two slices. Wino caught them between his fingers, shuffled into his moccasins, and dashed out the door.

His life was dull, his life was ordinary, but his life was also peaceful. Most importantly, he managed his own life. He thought, I won’t lie and say that I don’t at times miss the carefree lifestyle and abundance of misadventures to be had when I traveled. It was like being part of a band: touring cities by foot and rocking out venues by sunset alongside your closest friends. It always felt like charging down a pier, leaping as high as possible, and plunging into a chilling lake – skinny-dipping as the sun climbed the horizon. Nowadays, my work is my passion, my home is at The U, and my relationship with Cheryl is my adventure. And for nothing would I ever exchange this.

Around noon, when kids assembled for games within the courtyard, Ibrahim twitched. His delayed reaction to Wino’s noise finally arrived. Ibrahim rattled underneath the blanket like a worm. Eventually, his restlessness stopped, the bumps and hills under the covers flattened.

His voice groggily called out, “Wino. Wino? Ugh.”

The blanket flopped off his face and poured like pudding onto the living room carpet. Ibrahim slumped to his feet, his shoulders leaning over his torso. He hunched like a swamp monster flopping his feet over to the bathroom. Inside, he gargled and spat; the faucet spilled out rushing water and the toilet flushed. Ibrahim came out, crossed the window rubbing his face and the next moment, he threw open the curtains. He wore only his boxers. Bending over, he scratched his upper thigh. He yawned and simply flopped away.

The fridge opened and Ibrahim hovered his face a few inches from the fresh fruit and vegetables. Plump tomatoes rolled onto firm sunset-orange tangerines. Soy and chocolate milk eyeballed Ibrahim from their cartons. He scanned the layers, hunting for something he could throw into the toaster, oven, microwave, or straight into his mouth.

Eventually, he whined, “I could use a buffet after last night. Damn recoil. I’m out of shape.” The curtains flapped and fluttered behind him.

The early noon breeze rustled his boxers above his thin legs. A shadow hovered over the living room couch. It stemmed from the windowsill, with interlocked ankles rooted to the frame at the base. Her braids draped over her shoulders like wind chimes dangling against a central plank of wood.

Ibrahim continued his search while saying, “Those windows don’t open like that, y’know.” He referred to opening permitted by the lower half of each pane. She sat beneath the row of panes, flaring out in an “L” shape.

The Witch responded, “So this is where you live.”

The fridge shut. Ibrahim stood erect and turned round. He made his way to the living room and flopped back to the couch.

“For now,” he replied. He dove under the sheet and twirled his blanket into a cocoon.

“Oh? You planning on building a castle? ‘Cause lord knows I could use one.”

“It’s not mine. It’s my friend’s place.”

“Your friend’s, huh? It’s nice though, you should take it.”

“No thanks. Where do you stay?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just build me a castle so I can move in.”

“I thought Witches built their own castles,” he says.

“Does that mean I can’t move in?” Her comments fell into the silence. “I know. You just want your power back, but we have to get the magic circulating again, or else you'll keep begging for a recharge. Now, don’t you want to be a magician again? Free to roam and do as you please? Speaking of, I saw that little performance you put on the other day. Very impressive.”

“Glad you liked it,” Ibrahim grumbled.

In a low tone, the Witch reflected, “Y’know, I’m beginning to like you.”

“Everyone comes around eventually. And what about you-know-who? We still haven’t done anything about her.”

A sigh. “I know. I’m working on it.” A maniacal look grew on the Witch’s face. “I wanted to disgrace her and tear her down before ripping her to shreds. But it turns out she’s got no file. Or at least, she’s hiding it.” The Witch calmed herself; the violet hue in her eye faded. “Why? You eager to wreck this place? Want to show off more magic? Put on a play for the city?”

“Whatever gets my powers back. I just want my life back.”

“Well, a few nights ago, I snuck out of their office tailing a bullion van full of up-there-officers but…” The Witch shrugged.

“What?”