THE BOSS

There are cages on the lower floors of the flats in which tenants can store stuff of theirs they don’t want in their home.
They were talking, leaning on the railings of the walkway outside Carolina. First, so not to disturb them, I walked past, then turned back to take the opportunity.
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ having wondered what they might be talking about, smoking, “tenants” was the one word I heard on my approach before they stopped, looked at me, along the railings.
‘Yes,’ said the nearest, the caretaker of my block, the one I’d gone to ask.
‘There any storage cages free?’ I said.
‘Oh,’ said the furthest caretaker. ‘You phoned last week didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I forgot to pass it on.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m here now and asking.’
‘Let me see,’ said the main (as far as I was concerned) man. ‘Trouble is people die and because it wasn't recorded if they had a cage or not their stuff sits there for years. We had a search recently found one but like I say because it wasn’t recorded we don’t know how many more there are to be emptied for someone else to use...'
- his profile, matt skin, white teeth -
'...I’ll have to check with the Boss,' he said, 'and he’s away for two weeks.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘You just moved in?’ said Furthest.
‘Ee’s been here ages,’ said Main, then to me, ‘You do know there’s not enough for everyone to have one?’
‘Er, yeh, I do,’ I said, and after a slight pause, ‘Okay, well, I’ll leave it with you.’
‘Yeh, like I say, I’ll have to talk to the Boss.’

ONE TIME

There was resistance to adventure, a fear of the world both inside and outside of the home.
She hated him, and took revenge with thirty years of marriage. She called it duty but fooled no one.
‘I can’t do anything for you,’ said the psychiatrist they went to see.
She survived a childhood trauma which came her way from before she was born. Together they created a potent brew of despair and yearning.
He said, ‘She doesn’t know how to love.’
‘What about you?’ I asked him one time.