I sat in her apartment for nearly two hours, staring through the window at the billboard placed squarely in view. It stared back with it’s minimalist message which read REPENT in all caps.
She left for a business meeting early in the morning, left me to fend for myself amongst the feminine products and empty alcohol bottles strewn about the floor. I will get out of bed, I told myself. I rolled over unto the floor and slowly stood up. I will go to the kitchen. I will pour myself some coffee, I told myself. I slowly walk to the kitchen, careful not to trip on anything. I open the cupboard, closely examine the coffee mugs for any signs of recent use. I rinse out the mug and pour in some coffee. Just then the telephone rings. My heart races about. My mind scrambles in an attempt to figure out whether or not I should answer it. The message machine picks up for me. Telemarketers. I sigh in relief.
This apartment is nearly empty. Besides the mattress, A couch, a few milk crates covered in cloth underneath a table lamp, a Hi-Fi stereo turntable, various records and a coffee table. Yet it is over crowded with clothes, empty potato chip bags, cigarette ashtrays, beer cans and liquor bottles, blush, eyeliners, lipsticks and hair brushes. I don’t know why I am here. She asked me to wait, but I am getting bored and uncomfortable. It reeks of stale cigarettes and sex.
She has the eyes of a classic film star, aged, refined. The billboard pulses at me. The letters jump and twitch. I sip my coffee and continue to wait. The caffeine is making me nervous. I notice a small piece of paper in the corner, folded neat and innocent. I crawl to it, being sure to keep my body low to the ground, away from the prying eyes on the billboard. What could it be? A receipt from the market? A telephone number from an adoring fan? An emotional outburst of lust less frustration and romanticized hate forever forgotten by ghosts? I pick it up, scoot myself snug into the corner of walls, examining the mystery paper. I sniff it. Hmm, smells like cigarettes, or maybe that's just my fingertips. I close my eyes and carefully unfold it, making sure not to ruin the creases.
It is blank.
I sip my coffee and continue to wait.
