deliberately thrown it.
Maybe wind had carried it.
Maybe somebody dropped it.
Maybe it had fallen while he was emptying something.
I threw it away.
Several days later, another appeared.
Then another.
By December, I’d collected several.
Still, I said nothing.
Then one morning I hung two freshly washed white towels outside.
When I returned, one had a large brown stain across the middle.
A soaked tea bag was sitting in a fold of the fabric.
That was different.
I went upstairs.
Daniel answered looking half asleep.
“Sorry to bother you, but are you throwing tea bags over your balcony?”
His expression changed.
“Oh God. Are they landing downstairs?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his face.
“That’s me. I’m sorry. Sometimes when I’m outside in the morning, I just flick them over the railing without thinking.”
“They’re landing on my balcony.”
“I honestly didn’t realize.”
“One ruined a towel this morning.”
He
