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tender_square
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"you can't take video," the officer said. "if you do, it veers into inspection territory and you have to give 24 hours' notice for that. pictures only."
i ascended the stairs with a pink bucket and an armful of brown towels.
"you don't need those; i already wiped up," the tenant said.
i didn't look at him.
i took an immediate left and entered what used to be my office, a space i haven't seen for five months.
my eyes became the reels that spooled cellulose acetate:
the torn black garbage bag strung over the window blocking light from slipping through lucent curtains. the soggy piles of strewn laundry--the socks, the shirts--that had been used to sop up the rainwater. the wicker sofa against the wall, the base of which had been completely obliterated though he'd bought it brand new, shredded matrices on the floor. cigarette butts thrown. a silver lock on the walk-in closet door that wasn't there before and required a key.
like the tale of bluebeard, it is the room i am forbidden from opening. i fear the bones behind that door. i fear the key that bleeds into my clothing and doesn't stop.
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