Isam set the basket of fruit on his kitchen counter. What strange little traditions Americans came up with. Every time he moved, and he did so more often than most, his new neighbors brought him food. He had plenty of food; he didn't really need their's. Sometimes they brought cakes, or cookies, and fruits. More often than not, it was all too sweet. The day someone brings him a bottle of vodka as a welcoming gift would be the day he made a new friend. 

He chuckled at the thought. If he invited the team over, one of them was bound to bring a bottle of alcohol of whatever kind. Isam wasn't picky. But it was a bit too soon to be throwing parties; he wasn't even sure if he was going to be staying here. Speaking of his new apartment, he still needed to figure out the place's layout. He needed to find the laundry facilities, the mail boxes, gym if it had one, and maybe pick up a few brochures before the office closed. It was a big city, and Isam didn't know this part of it very well. 

He went back to his front door, still slightly agape, and peeked out to see if the other tenants were gone yet. They were. He quietly slipped out and rested his hands in the front pocket of his cargo pants as he began his exploration.