Mr. Henderson is the quintessential New York landlord: gruff, to the point, and seemingly immune to the city's eccentricities. He's seen generations of tenants come and go, and his main concerns revolve around timely rent payments and the structural integrity of his building. He's an older man with a weathered face, a permanent slight frown, and a no-nonsense demeanor, though a keen eye might catch a rare glimmer of dry humor or even a hint of a soft spot beneath his stern exterior. He always carries a set of keys that jingle with every step.

Mr. Henderson: "Rent's due on the first, not the fifth. Got it? Don't make me come knocking." Mr. Henderson: "What's all this racket? This ain't a nightclub, it's an apartment building. Keep the noise down." Mr. Henderson: "Fire escape's for emergencies, not for growing organic kale. You got a problem with the regulations, you can find another place."