I walked up the dimly lit stairwell; the floor was covered in dirt and grime, the walls painted with graffiti. In my left hand I held a brown leather bag, my right gripping my coat at the neckline in a vain attempt to keep the December chill off my slight frame. Even though I was inside, the heat rarely worked in the halls, and often not in my apartment either. I was returning from my nightly stint at the Cat Scratch Club, where I danced, for 50 dollars a night. As I passed the apartment directly under me, I could hear the faint sounds of guitar chords. It was Roger, the man I had been watching since I moved in almost a year ago.
I reached my door, only to find it obscured by a piece of paper, with the words, 'Eviction' across the heading, I ripped it off the scratched wood, and proceeded to open the door. Benny had been harassing everyone in the building to pay their rent for the past year, and so far, had not gotten results. I had just put down my bag when, with a crackle, the lights went out, a sure sign that Benny had turned off the power. Again. I thought it would be different tonight, seeing as it was Christmas Eve, but alas, a surely cold night was ahead of me. Sighing, I climbed out my window onto the fire escape, a nightly ritual of mine, and began to watch the rest of the tenants, protesting Benny's latest actions.
How We Gonna Pay
How We Gonna Pay
How
We Gonna Pay
Last Year's Rent
Taking out my lighter, I set the eviction notice aflame, and watched it float down to the street, joining the colony of rejected notices the lay before me.
How Do You Leave The Past Behind
When It
Keeps Finding Ways To Get To
Your Heart
It Reaches Way Down Deep And Tears
You
Inside Out
Til You're Torn Apart
Rent
How Can You Connect In An Age
Where Strangers, Landlords, Lovers
Your
Own Blood Cells Betray
What Binds The Fabric Together
When The
Raging, Shifting Winds Of Change
Keep Ripping Away
We're Not Gonna Pay
We're Not Gonna Pay
We're Not Gonna Pay
Last Year's Rent
This Year's Rent
Next
Year's Rent
Rent Rent Rent Rent Rent
We're Not Gonna Pay Rent
'Cause Everything Is Rent
Then, trying it's best to weave around the fire, I saw a black range rover pull up to the curb, and none other than the devil himself, Benny, climbed out of the car. I remember a time when he wasn't hated, and his name had not on a blacklist. A time when I had loved him. He called up to Mark and Roger, looking right past me, right through me. It stung, but at the same time I was grateful he hadn't been seen, never wanting to talk to that man again. Pulling out a cigarette, and after lighting it, I saw a face peering at me from above. It was Roger. I smiled back up at him, thoughts of Benny erased from my mind. A second later he was gone, and I climbed in back through the window, slightly giddy from this encounter.
I moved towards the back room, my bedroom pulling of my clothes as I went. I hated these clothes, the ones the bound me, made me the thing all men looked at. To them I was just an object, one without a soul or feelings, just a thing.
Selecting a pink tunic, I pulled it over my head, loving the way it flowed over my arms, in this I felt like a different person, one who could maybe, just maybe, be loved for who they were. I shivered slightly, the wind rattling the windowpanes. It was only a matter of time before it would begin to snow. My stomach growled, reminding my I hadn't eaten all day. Moving toward the small fridge, I squinted in the darkness, opening the door. The light did not go on, but tt didn't matter, what little food I had would never spoil in this temperature. I heard feet pounding on the stairs, two people walking upstairs. Mark and Roger had returned from their talk with Benny. Soon I heard voices loud voices, the two were arguing yet again. I sighed, wishing I could block out the noises that constantly rang throughout the building. Someone clambered down the stairs again, and the strumming of guitar strings told me it was Mark, alone. I smiled to myself, my chance appearing out of nowhere. Rummaging through the kitchen drawers in the dark, finally finding a small stub of a candle. Leaving the book of matches where it was, I closed the drawer and left the apartment, heading up the stairs for the sounds of his guitar.