A thick voice laced with a good amount of angst and a heavy Cuban accent, echoes from the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Lucy! Lucy! We are out of toilet paper! Bring me the toilet paper please!” His voice holds a note of urgency.

Lucy looks up from her masterpiece, Ethel takes off, the apartment door slams shut loudly behind her.

“Lucy! Lucy! Are you there?
¡Ay, caramba Lucy!” The voice rises in pitch.

“Um, no, no I’m not!” Lucy stutters.

“What?” The voice asks, the t in the word ‘what’ nearly silent as his frustration mounts.

“Oh! Oh!” The red-headed ball of confusion mutters. “Ok, ok, I’m coming! Keep your pants on!”

“Lucy, what are you saying?
Mama Mia, Mira que tiene cosa!” Unintelligent Spanish verbiage fills the narrow…