A house for the taking! The psychological battle I've been waging for the past 3 months is climaxed. The still is dizzy. A new civility rises, unbounded by the reality of section 8, subsidized housing. The sandpaper removed, I'm almost rendered blind with the lack of gravity.
I've been spying their droppings on the sidewalk; the things that stay behind. For at least the past week. Maybe two. Then sometime Sunday afternoon the house fell quiet. The vibrations of life (a treat for tattered skin, say the vedic monks) absent from all but our garret.
I heard curly and shiny trespassing on the abandoned nest that night.clp, clp, clp.
"huh, well it has higher ceilings"
clp, clp.
"ugh, but the bathroom's vomitific. Red light on pink tile does not relax the sphincter"
clp, clp, clp, clp, clp, clp
"bigger closets, oh, here's your room, kinda"
"yeah, the floor's are kinda gross"
"yeah, it kind of smells like urine"
click.
That little 'Rican girl. And her sister. They didn't go to school, they were just here. And their mom, with the screechy contralto. They just aren't here.
What remains, a long festering estate. A whole new era.
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