PART ONE
It was times like this that Mikey wondered where he could possibly live his life day to day. In front of him laid all the money he had -- seven crumpled twenty-dollar bills, and some loose change. Three quarters and a couple of pennies.
This was all the money in his life at this moment. And rent was overdue by half a month now. He could feel the scanning, laser-sharp eyes of his landlord every time he headed into his building, looking from the trailer that terrible creature had set up no more than forty feet from the complex. It gave Mikey an eerie feeling every time he walked by it -- like he was nothing more than a guinea pig involved in the continuing experiments of some 12-year-old prodigy.
Now that he thought about it, he did smell some sort of ozone-type flavor around the outside of the building, near the flowerbeds that lined up in nice little rows on either side of the steps inside.
Mikey grabbed the money from the bed -- an odd floral print that had belonged to the previous tenant, who most likely left it because of the unbearable tackiness -- and stuffed it into his wallet. Into the jeans the wallet went, and out the door Mikey headed.
He would have to pass by the trailer one more time to get to his car, which would hopefully run on the few vapors that were hanging around in the gas tank. He wished he didn't have to park that far away. But that was something that people who paid their rent on time were allowed to do. The landlord had the old Impala that Mikey had practically grown up on impounded more than once during the cold winters when Mikey was sure he wouldn't be able to make it the hundred feet to the door.
As that same door shut behind him, he felt a cold chill rattle his bones to pieces and rebuild them. Even early spring felt like the coldest winters when you grew up this north in New England. The light in the trailer -- ever so askew from blocking a direct line of sight to the street in front of Mikey -- burned with damnation.
But nowhere did he see the landlord's hand near the windowsill. Nowhere did he see the old man's face. Or that one fake eye, a bald white stricken with lightning bolts of crimson in a horrible attempt to fool people into it being real, which the old man occassionally set on that same windowsill.
Between the eye, the smell, and the rent, Mikey felt that he must be in some sort of Japanese horror movie a lot of the time. He hadn't seen a creepy child around the premises, but he couldn't imagine that there wasn't some kid in the building, somewhere.
He bounded down from the steps. Wet grass seeped through the holes in the soles of his sneakers. He only had one hundred forty dollars, and about thirty of it was to be gas money. The rest would be for the big gamble. Socks could come later. Shoes could come later.
All he knew was that the rent had to be paid before noontime tomorrow. All $1200 of it. That was more important than his feet.
Wait.
Did he just hear creaking from inside the trailer?
Mikey's feet moved much faster towards his car. Almost to the point where he could've been the world's worst speed-skater.
Coming...
Part 2: When I Feel Like It
It was times like this that Mikey wondered where he could possibly live his life day to day. In front of him laid all the money he had -- seven crumpled twenty-dollar bills, and some loose change. Three quarters and a couple of pennies.
This was all the money in his life at this moment. And rent was overdue by half a month now. He could feel the scanning, laser-sharp eyes of his landlord every time he headed into his building, looking from the trailer that terrible creature had set up no more than forty feet from the complex. It gave Mikey an eerie feeling every time he walked by it -- like he was nothing more than a guinea pig involved in the continuing experiments of some 12-year-old prodigy.
Now that he thought about it, he did smell some sort of ozone-type flavor around the outside of the building, near the flowerbeds that lined up in nice little rows on either side of the steps inside.
Mikey grabbed the money from the bed -- an odd floral print that had belonged to the previous tenant, who most likely left it because of the unbearable tackiness -- and stuffed it into his wallet. Into the jeans the wallet went, and out the door Mikey headed.
He would have to pass by the trailer one more time to get to his car, which would hopefully run on the few vapors that were hanging around in the gas tank. He wished he didn't have to park that far away. But that was something that people who paid their rent on time were allowed to do. The landlord had the old Impala that Mikey had practically grown up on impounded more than once during the cold winters when Mikey was sure he wouldn't be able to make it the hundred feet to the door.
As that same door shut behind him, he felt a cold chill rattle his bones to pieces and rebuild them. Even early spring felt like the coldest winters when you grew up this north in New England. The light in the trailer -- ever so askew from blocking a direct line of sight to the street in front of Mikey -- burned with damnation.
But nowhere did he see the landlord's hand near the windowsill. Nowhere did he see the old man's face. Or that one fake eye, a bald white stricken with lightning bolts of crimson in a horrible attempt to fool people into it being real, which the old man occassionally set on that same windowsill.
Between the eye, the smell, and the rent, Mikey felt that he must be in some sort of Japanese horror movie a lot of the time. He hadn't seen a creepy child around the premises, but he couldn't imagine that there wasn't some kid in the building, somewhere.
He bounded down from the steps. Wet grass seeped through the holes in the soles of his sneakers. He only had one hundred forty dollars, and about thirty of it was to be gas money. The rest would be for the big gamble. Socks could come later. Shoes could come later.
All he knew was that the rent had to be paid before noontime tomorrow. All $1200 of it. That was more important than his feet.
Wait.
Did he just hear creaking from inside the trailer?
Mikey's feet moved much faster towards his car. Almost to the point where he could've been the world's worst speed-skater.
Coming...
Part 2: When I Feel Like It