Galilee

The guy who sells weed to university kids died yesterday. It had stopped smelling. I knew something was wrong. I had to tell the manager myself because everyone else living near me is behind on their rent and couldn't risk it. Management is threatening to kick them out so he can start making this a motel again.

A pregnant woman was trying to book a room. She said she was on vacation. I waited, not wanting to interrupt such a careful lie. "Like shit," the manager said, shooing her away, "I can't have anymore residents." The woman looked at me, but I was fixing my attention on the broken coffee maker wondering whether it would get fixed. Expecting the manager's answer, she walked out and into a pick-up truck that hadn't stopped it's engine.

I smoked a J by the pool that had been drained four winter's ago and never re-filled while an ambulance dealt with the corpse next door. An odd array of lawn ornaments had collected pool-side, discarded by people moving in who brought more than they knew they'd have room for. They're hoping they'll have front yards again one day. But this was the first time I noticed the donkey, a mismatched piece from a manger display. I remember that Jesus rode an ass into Jerusalem. That must have been something to see.