“It’s brand new”
Tahoe Boulevard past 5pm on a midday midweek evening was a stream. Traffic from the turnstiles trimmed the eastbound north lane a new doo. The collector was jammed for two thirds of Dixie Dr. and clouds had cluttered over Breakwater Creek.
Under the orange tan she had spent time on the strip, searching for roof’s to be under and over. She was and is on the sidewalk 10 floors down from her tenth floor place on 19teenth avenue. The couch was and is brand new, the rug a bit used and the elevator potentially recycled. She had been and still is and will be bleary, but the rep had only been dreary as she reared on about inclusive financing.
The lease was for 6 months- now for most of 5- but there had been on option for 12, earned with proof of goodwill. She had a moved in a week ago today, and now it is today and she is here and so are we.
10 pm on her stove meant time to open the door and enter out into evening. Sidewalk creases are re-defined when under watch of incandescent lamp posts. She was outside before she knew it, and down the block when she remembered it was time out at 12. In the gutter, emptying out her inhibitions. She had moved to the city with a new couch, by the eastbound lane next to Breakwater Creek.
The ombre crumbs cast a curtain for each side of her walk. It was after hours & after her event, past one but before four. The Buicks across from the window on her room spelt out a 6 o’clock shadow heading east. She was sure it was home just not used to the new.
After moving in on a Wednesday, going out on a Friday and staying in for the whole weekend had she begun to feel like she could welcome herself HOME. The paint and the sills had stayed still, just her comfort had settled down the rug. On the counters were soup cans and brown bags and stains, on the floor near the cabinet. Lived in for a while and learning the language, the couch still looked new.