N’s grandmother’s apartment is in a quiet, forgotten corner of the city. No one has lived there for a good twenty years. The elevator requires ten tetri to work (something like a penny) but without one you will have to climb eight flights. The coin is dropped into a little slot and the doors shove closed. The apartment door is a few cracked planks of wood with brown paint slathered across them. A tiny lock turns with a little effort. You don’t want the key to break off in there, so it happens gingerly.
When I was a kid we loved construction sites, which were all over the place in suburban Los Angeles. We used stuff we found at various sites to build a treehouse in a big ol' eucalyptus tree. It became our clubhouse. On a trip back to California when I was in college I drove by that treehouse. Well, what was left of it. Just a few 2x4s hanging forlornly as the tree swayed in the wind. The first time I ever kissed a girl happened in that treehouse. Her name was Lynn Bracket. Haven't thought about her for long time.
Lovely piece! What's the plan for this old apartment? I love abandoned places, too, particularly those where family lived, such as this: https://annettegendler.com/2018/02/why-returning-to-our-roots-is-meaningful/
When I was a kid we loved construction sites, which were all over the place in suburban Los Angeles. We used stuff we found at various sites to build a treehouse in a big ol' eucalyptus tree. It became our clubhouse. On a trip back to California when I was in college I drove by that treehouse. Well, what was left of it. Just a few 2x4s hanging forlornly as the tree swayed in the wind. The first time I ever kissed a girl happened in that treehouse. Her name was Lynn Bracket. Haven't thought about her for long time.