The blue security door leading outside keeps on opening and closing, it slams loud, abruptly. A ghost walks through it. This apparition is faster than darting eyes, faster than reverberating sound, and above all, faster than objective belief, confusing.
I sit listening to a comic, Bill Burr, speak on helicopters and planes and grown men making feminine sounds; the laugh track fills a deserted room, I am silent and I am funny. Sometimes I hear planes fly overhead, sometimes my apartment shakes.
The door to the complex slams again loud, and there is no one walking away, no in or out, the only presence is the sound as it slips into a low hum and goes into the next—goodbye. At times people come through, an abrupt noise, and then nothing. Some people sit and watch, waiting for what’s coming. Others are moving on.