Bloody Monday
I was going to do something today. I really was.
Something. Anything.
I was already a bit sluggish this morning, still recovering from our weekend trip.
Then the super came by and said he wants me to move the air-conditioner because it’s dripping on a light fixture outside the building—never mind that a light fixture designed to withstand torrential rain somehow can’t handle a little runoff from an AC unit.
Oh, yes… and then the building caught fire. Heard the alarm. Looked out the window and saw that the street was choked with fire engines. When I heard windows breaking and the sound of glass crashing to the street I sprang into action, shoving the cats into a carrier and dashing out into the hallway.
“Don’t worry… you guys are safe,” the fireman said. Oh. The weird thing is I didn’t give a single thought to my possessions, not even the small and expensive stuff.
The poor guy on the fifth floor was scrambling to set up buckets to catch the water pouring in through the ceiling. He has the same Ikea paper lamp I have. I told him I’d be glad to help with anything and then proceeded upstairs to the source of the fire. Nothing to see, really—just a darkened apartment. That awful, bitter aroma of smoke instantly permeates your clothes and your skin. The super was handing the situation so I retreated back downstairs.
When Les returned home she stripped naked and started cleaning the house.
I’m not going to get anything done today. No fucking way.
Comments Off | Top ↑
