The Ghost Festival
The Trouble With Apartment One — Chapter 11
I snapped this photo many years ago. Sadly, the old neon Mott Street Optical sign is long gone…
Here’s the latest chapter of The Trouble With Apartment One.
Do leave a comment, for God’s sake!
— B.F. SPÄTH
11. THE GHOST FESTIVAL
It was during the final moments of The Ghost Festival, just after the clocks ran down, that I found myself stranded on Pell Street, bereft of will and inclination and disconnected from The Conversation of Man…
The gravity of my situation cannot be overstated! I said.
I seem to be heading south…
★
I consulted greasy menus.
I listened to Chinese violins on the sidewalk.
I stood in line at the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory and drank Vietnamese coffee after dark.
★
I chose sticky rice dumplings as a side-dish.
I watched a Chinese marching band.
I stuffed myself with Haw Flakes and continued heading south…
★
Along the murky edge of evening, just before they turned the lanterns on, I bolted out of Mr. Tang’s, and made a left on Baxter…
Division Street is waiting, I said—and my penitential spot upon the floor…
★
However, as I arrived upon the landing, the door to Apartment Four was blocked—Leonora intercepted me and hissed:
Fiadh’s here! You’ve got to come back later!
★
Misfortune follows me like a faithful dog, I said, as I landed on the sidewalk and drifted west along Division Street.
Somewhere citizens are sleeping soundly, I thought—as I headed towards Canal Street and the all-night luncheonette…
★
The days crept by in a similar fashion at the far end of an indifferent calendar:
I occupied a thousand solemn benches.
I fought off colds with Wong Lo Kat.
I rolled a joint in Chatham Square and dined on razor clams with salt and pepper squid.
★
I ran up and down the steps of tenements.
I paid rent on a patch of floor.
I brawled with feral cats by night and lost myself inside the bedding…
★
I’ll try a different tack, I said.
I’ll reduce the time spent in Apartment Four—and avoid The Wrath of Leonora and her civil servant Fiadh!
Consequently, I roamed the streets all day and deep into The Lantern Night—
★
Under the sway of a murky and Miserable Moon, I took a seat in Confucius Plaza and asked myself a question:
Why should a man pay rent on a home he can’t inhabit? I complained.
There’s no answer, I concluded.
I am no one.
And the city rushes in to fill the vacuum!
★
Apartment Number Four groaned and shuddered in an uneasy sleep—as a filthy comet sped over Division Street and spattered the windows with grease!