One man woke up at three in the morning because of anxiety. The anxiety was sitting at his feet and smelled of wet cardboard.

“That’s it,” the man thought. “I’m done for. I’m the only one awake, and the only one with anxiety.”

He got up, went to the window and saw the building opposite. Eleven lights were on in its windows. In every window a man sat looking at the floor.

The man understood that in eleven apartments it smelled of wet cardboard just then.

“Excuse me,” he said to the anxiety, “are you the only one for the whole building?”

“No,” said the anxiety. “I’m the only one for the whole city. But there is a lot of work, so I go round in turns. Tonight is your turn, tomorrow it’s the neighbour upstairs.”

“The one who has an early shift?” asked the man.

“Exactly.”

The man thought it over. Then he went to the kitchen, put the kettle on and poured the anxiety some tea. The anxiety was surprised, because it was usually driven out rather than offered anything, and this had left it tired all its life.

“I’ll put up with it,” said the man. “Better tonight at my place. I don’t have to get up early tomorrow.”

The anxiety drank the tea and said “merci.” They sat in silence for a while. The anxiety turned out to be not a bad companion: it hardly spoke, only sighed now and then, and sighed just the way he did.

By six in the morning the anxiety got up and put on its coat.

“Off to the neighbour?” asked the man.

“Off to the neighbour,” said the anxiety. “But I’ll tell him you stopped by.”

The man went to bed and slept until noon. And the neighbour upstairs, oddly enough, slept well that night.