but it wasn’t as if I would never return. I’d see them again, I was certain of that. So why did I feel like I was giving up the best thing that had ever happened to me?
It was dark by the time I made it off the Interstate and back to civilization. That suited me quite fine. After the natural beauty I’d enjoyed over the last few days, I wasn’t all that interested in seeing the dirty, graffiti-covered, geometric buildings and hard, litter-covered streets in full daylight.
All around me were the ugly signs of the real world that I’d been trying so hard to get away from: the hardnosed motorcycle cop writing a ticket to the delinquent kid in the wool cap who was standing beside the open door of his hand-me-down pickup, desperately trying to convince the officer that he wasn’t high; the skanky hooker in the fur coat and miniskirt standing out on the corner smoking a Virginia Slim, waiting for her next meal ticket to drive by and flash a big enough bill in her face; the shirtless man racing out the door of an apartment complex in the middle of trying to get his pants back on, while a half-naked bottle-blonde appeared at a window above him and dumped the rest of his clothes right on his head before sharply calling him a barrage of unpleasant names in loud, screechy tones.
Home sweet home.
I stopped at a cheap diner on the way, hoping to prolong getting back to that apartment complex as long as I could. I spent a bit too long just sitting at the counter, poking my fork at my plate of spaghetti with my face resting in my hand, propped on my elbow, only occasionally remembering that I should actually eat. It had only been a few hours and I already missed them.
As soon as I pulled up to the street outside my apartment complex, the first place my eyes went to was my landlord’s window. It was dark. That probably meant the old stick was in bed already. I hoped. It was an unpleasant ritual I had come to dread most nights when I returned home late: I would head up the stairs, only to be ambushed on the way to my door by that creaky old bastard bursting out of his door and demanding to know where his rent money was. But if the evidence before me was any indication, that wouldn’t be happening tonight. Fingers crossed.
I walked into the complex, and stopped to check my mailbox, which had piled up with bills over the last couple days. Great, just what I needed. I began carefully walking up the stairs, starting to tiptoe as I neared the top, where my door stood on one side and my landlord’s stood opposite. I kept my attention on his door, from which I still heard no sound and saw no light peaking from under it. I slowly started to gain a bit more confidence that I wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight. I turned toward my own door, still watching his, and carefully turned my key in the lock, trying to make it as silent as possible. I quietly pushed my door open, turned on the light, and—
I jumped about a foot in the air when I saw my landlord sitting in my easy chair, watching me come in with his vulture’s eyes, puffing on his cigar and stinking up the room. “Mr. Norton!” I gasped.
“You think I didn’t see you pull up, freeloader?” he rasped.
“I, uh…”
“So what, you thought you’d skip town for a couple days and I’d just forget that you’re still a month behind?”
“No, I swear, I just… needed a little vacation.”
“You don’t get a vacation from your rent, toots. I hope you enjoyed your getaway, because if you don’t pay up by the end of the week, it’ll be permanent.”
I gaped at him as he pushed himself up from the chair with his cane. “Mr. Norton, I told you I’m just out of a job!”
“And ain’t that a bitch,” he grumbled as he stepped up beside me on his way to the door. “Show me the money, or I show you the door.” He took a drag from his cigar and blew a puff of smoke right in my face before he walking out. I
It was dark by the time I made it off the Interstate and back to civilization. That suited me quite fine. After the natural beauty I’d enjoyed over the last few days, I wasn’t all that interested in seeing the dirty, graffiti-covered, geometric buildings and hard, litter-covered streets in full daylight.
All around me were the ugly signs of the real world that I’d been trying so hard to get away from: the hardnosed motorcycle cop writing a ticket to the delinquent kid in the wool cap who was standing beside the open door of his hand-me-down pickup, desperately trying to convince the officer that he wasn’t high; the skanky hooker in the fur coat and miniskirt standing out on the corner smoking a Virginia Slim, waiting for her next meal ticket to drive by and flash a big enough bill in her face; the shirtless man racing out the door of an apartment complex in the middle of trying to get his pants back on, while a half-naked bottle-blonde appeared at a window above him and dumped the rest of his clothes right on his head before sharply calling him a barrage of unpleasant names in loud, screechy tones.
Home sweet home.
I stopped at a cheap diner on the way, hoping to prolong getting back to that apartment complex as long as I could. I spent a bit too long just sitting at the counter, poking my fork at my plate of spaghetti with my face resting in my hand, propped on my elbow, only occasionally remembering that I should actually eat. It had only been a few hours and I already missed them.
As soon as I pulled up to the street outside my apartment complex, the first place my eyes went to was my landlord’s window. It was dark. That probably meant the old stick was in bed already. I hoped. It was an unpleasant ritual I had come to dread most nights when I returned home late: I would head up the stairs, only to be ambushed on the way to my door by that creaky old bastard bursting out of his door and demanding to know where his rent money was. But if the evidence before me was any indication, that wouldn’t be happening tonight. Fingers crossed.
I walked into the complex, and stopped to check my mailbox, which had piled up with bills over the last couple days. Great, just what I needed. I began carefully walking up the stairs, starting to tiptoe as I neared the top, where my door stood on one side and my landlord’s stood opposite. I kept my attention on his door, from which I still heard no sound and saw no light peaking from under it. I slowly started to gain a bit more confidence that I wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight. I turned toward my own door, still watching his, and carefully turned my key in the lock, trying to make it as silent as possible. I quietly pushed my door open, turned on the light, and—
I jumped about a foot in the air when I saw my landlord sitting in my easy chair, watching me come in with his vulture’s eyes, puffing on his cigar and stinking up the room. “Mr. Norton!” I gasped.
“You think I didn’t see you pull up, freeloader?” he rasped.
“I, uh…”
“So what, you thought you’d skip town for a couple days and I’d just forget that you’re still a month behind?”
“No, I swear, I just… needed a little vacation.”
“You don’t get a vacation from your rent, toots. I hope you enjoyed your getaway, because if you don’t pay up by the end of the week, it’ll be permanent.”
I gaped at him as he pushed himself up from the chair with his cane. “Mr. Norton, I told you I’m just out of a job!”
“And ain’t that a bitch,” he grumbled as he stepped up beside me on his way to the door. “Show me the money, or I show you the door.” He took a drag from his cigar and blew a puff of smoke right in my face before he walking out. I
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