Flat

The smell of smoke salmon salts the August air, drooling languidly across crowded streets, car exhaust, telephone wires... my stomach rumbles as I imagine the fine feast our neighbors must be having, over there in that baked brick flat of theirs. Perhaps twice-baked potatoes too, lathered in melted butter. And never forget the rich chocolate fudge cake they always serve- it sticks to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter.

In our flat all you can smell is dirty laundry so ripe that Mama's embarrassed to take it to get washed.

"Hallie, peel the apples!" she calls then. She probably knows that I was shirking my chores again to go out on the balcony. Mama never catches me at it, of course, but she doesn't need to; it's like she's got telepathy or some x-ray vision or something. Everything you think, Mama knows.

She lets me at it sometimes, daydreaming, that is, especially now that it's summer. Every day is just one big chore, cleaning and cooking and gardening for the neighbors downstairs... so I like to get away, watch the action from our balcony. For instance, take Mr. Moser. One time he got in a streetfight at 2 AM, right outside the lobby. It was over a girl- a small, pale, redheaded girl that liked to wear frilly dresses and powder her face for evenings out. She was fickle, and like all roses she had thorns, so one night her other man showed up to take her away from Mr. Moser once and for all. The man had a sour face, puckered and sordid. You could tell that girl'd done him in, poisoned him with passion, perhaps. But he went right up to Mr. Moser and punched him clean in the face- sent him sprawling across the sidewalk.

The next day I saw a lovely young nurse call to the building.

I also like to watch couples stroll up and down our street. Sometimes they're holding hands, sometimes doing something silly like skipping, and sometimes (and these I like best of all) the man stops at a vendor and buys a lily to put in his girl's hair. It seems as though the fringes of their happiness flutter right up to me and nestle in the crook of my arm, because whenever two people in love pass, the day almost brightens.

Those couples hold the promise of a future for me, because I've seen even the ugliest of girls going around with a man slung over her arm.

"Ahhhh," I'll sigh leaning on the railing and staring dreamily into the distance. It's surprising, but even in a city, if you sit still enough, a bird might land on your shoulder and coo a lullaby softly into your ear.