The Apartment

I can feel the Q train’s groaning vibrations as I struggle with the strings on our window shades. It is officially Fall, and I like to let the daylight brighten the apartment. We put down the shades at night so the crack-heads don’t feel tempted to peak into our living room, but between the hours of 8am and 7pm I like seeing the stoops across the way, our landlady’s motorcycle covered and chained to the black metal gate out front, her flowers and green things climbing, cascading over the building’s limestone.

Someone has knotted up the string ends in an effort to keep them out of the cats’ reach, but it looks horrible, and now Oscar is lusting after the tangled mess in my hands, eyes darting and tail flicking as the loops and snarls flash and jump between my fingers.

The stoop from the next apartment building over blocks a bit of our view to the left, but you can see quite a lot from these three front windows. In good weather, the Carribeans down the street play dominoes at all hours of the day. I haven’t played dominoes since the third grade, but they have it down to an art, dramatically suspending each tile in the air for a quivering moment before slamming it down to the table with a loud defiant hah! The men gathered round shout in triumph or defeat, hands in the air, clapping the stone-faced players on the back, egging on the next challenge.

I hear the squeaks of wheels on pot-holed pavement and know that John is back from the laundry mat. Through the window I can see him tottering down our dead-end street, balancing a pile of bulging, straining duffel bags his little metal cart. His tall, wiry frame is hunched over, somehow pushing the cart, talking on his cell, and smoking a cigarette at the same time and I laugh, waving between the window bars. He is probably the window shade culprit.