Nov 22, 2006 17:57
I walk out my front door -- a condo built for two, lived in by one -- and onto Park Avenue. I realize that I've forgotten my grocery list so I head back up the 13 steps to the entryway. The big framed door that leads into my soul is wooden, but as thick as concrete. It seems inviting enough, to some.
I open the latch and push. It smells of my breakfast -- ham and toast -- and Febreeze. It isn't the tacky smell of some Park Avenue apartments. Those ones where the owners try too hard to make it smell plastic -- unbreakable, unhomely... fake.
The living room/kitchen combo contains nothing but a simple table and chairs, the usual frying pan and plate in the sink -- leftover from breakfast -- and a wonderful set of drapes on the living room window.
I spot my list hanging on the refridgerator. I go to grab it and notice the picture clipped just above it. It was of you, me and Bangles -- the dog we shared before... It was simply me and Bangles now. I cut you out the day you left.
I haven't seen you or Bangles in over a month. A pity really, I loved that dog.
I took the list and headed out the front door. I hung a left on Maple and walked through the doors of the city market -- Ray's.
a long time ago.