This is my last Friday night in my first big city apartment. I'm moving to another building, closer to the lake. Higher up. Fewer trees in view. More sky. Sketchier building. Lower rent. I'm looking into these apartments across the alley and the courtyard for the last time. Lives lived in such close proximity and at such a distance. More than their human inhabitants, it is the colors of the walls in these apartments -- white-white -- textbook blue -- mossy green; it is the artwork hanging there -- an oversized black and white canvas screened with a picture of Billie Holiday -- a large wooden spoon on a kitchen wall -- visible through windows; it is the color of the light coming through the blinds -- the Billie Holiday apartment has recently switched entirely to the cool blue-white of eco-friendly bulbs -- a lady across the courtyard who has lived here for twenty years gives off a thin dingy yellow -- the rotating college boys in the basement bright overhead light at all hours; it is with these which I have become intimately acquainted. I will miss these.
