"This really where you live?" she asks, "Or is it just a kind of safehouse?"
"I sleep here," Agnasci says. "Wouldn't call it
living."
There's a hint of a grin on his lips. It's clear he's in on the joke, and isn't offended at all. "What can I say? The price was right."
He leads the others to his apartment, a small one-bedroom on the second floor. The place is cozy, bordering on cramped. There's a couch and a television that look like they were bought secondhand sometime during the Clinton administration. The kitchen counter seems to do double duty as food preparation area and table, as there's no dining table in sight. The bathroom doesn't have a tub, only a space-saving enclosed shower. The only piece of furniture in the bedroom is a bed that seems newer and nicer than the rest of the place, with drawers attached to the frame. The closet is empty, except for a single leather jacket.
Everything in the apartment is spotlessly clean and well-lit, almost to an obsessive degree, in stark contrast to the grime, graffiti, and despair outside.
The only exceptional thing about the apartment is a single piece of artwork hanging on the wall of the bedroom. It's a print, not an original piece, although Agnasci has obviously taken care to display it as if it were a national treasure. The picture is abstract, harsh geometrical overlapping shapes, with shades of red and yellow seeming to dominate around and through a central set of flesh-colored shapes. The arrangement seems to conjure the image of something escaping, enveloping, and eventually overcoming.
The title of the piece, clearly displayed in the frame, is "The Devil, Triumphant". No artist is credited.
