Wednesday, February 22, 2012

February's loss

A man died in our neighboring apartment complex this week. He was an alcoholic with hermit tendencies who collected plants and climbed through his windows onto the rooftop of the business next door, like someone living in a high rise in NY. He had large aquariums with fresh water fish in his studio apartment and called himself a photographer. He pointed out stars and constellations to me one evening while I was trimming the cactus and he laughed at how crazy/brave I was for even handling the overgrown mess. He sat on the stoop with me and my Louise Bourgeois book and talked about art and traveling. He was a masseuse and drove a silver VW beetle, a new one.

The neighbor shouted, through tears and hands to her face, it's Donald, it's Donald,
 and the emergency crew stomped through the hallways.

Today his furniture is stacked up by the dumpster.

And large black plastic trash bags lean against the cinderblock wall.

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