2002-08-18 - 1:59 p.m.
Outside my new door there is a Florida punch-card balloting machine.
Priceless, really, and doubtless the first of many pleasurable -- and possibly otherwise -- surprises awaiting me in my new house, which I picked with all the carefulness of someone desperate for a place to live.
It's a small fifties house just off Bay Shore, with overgrown tropical plants and quirky charm. The porch has house on three sides, and the fourth wall of screen connects from the overhang of the roof to the base of the foundation, producing an inwardly-slopping effect. This curiously matches the furniture on the porch, a collection of '50s pieces, which in turn match another resident of the house, Regina. We sat on the porch and talked for a while, with lee, who is occupying my room now, and Robbie, some guy in Tibetan Buddhist Monk's robes. A white-caliaco kitten, which belonged to lee, niped and jumped at Regina's long hair behind her as we sat there, leading Regina to grab a spray bottle of water and squirt to keep it at bay. The cat may in fact stay with us, as the alternitive is for it to live in B-dorm with lee.
The first sign of problems came when I turned at the door on my way out. There was a hall mirror there, which is pretty standard, except this one, set a foot below me, cut off my head.
I'm sure that had no metaphorical value.
