smelled of cabbage
getting
off the elevator, or fish.
there was always a baby
crying.
a new born baby.
dogs were barking.
you could hear through
the thin partitions,
people arguing.
a man hitting
his wife.
a dish shattering against
the shared
wall.
the ac was weak in
the summer,
the heat a stale warm
breath
in the winter.
there was always an old
man in the lobby
with one leg.
from the balcony
you could see another building
and beyond that
the highway.
televisions were on all day,
all night.
upstairs you could hear
the crescendo of bed springs
as others made
love.
there was music playing
on cheap radios,
loud music.
Beethoven
and Tupac jousting
for ears.
i was out of there in
six months,
although i had signed
a lease
for three years.
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