Holding on for one more day
Waking up in that apartment was never easy. Mice scattered across the room as my feet hit the floor, and before I could muster enough courage to see if the bathroom was free of crazy people I'd already decided I'd be better off staying in bed. But then again, that would be no prize either. Only if I could get to sleep quickly, ignore the fact that the broken spring protruding from deep within that smelly, urine-stained mattress was bruising my back, could I find any pleasure in staying at home. No, it was better to force myself to that shower, so I tippy-toed on my flip-flops across that dirty shag carpet and stepped into the grimy, once-white but never clean bathtub and closed the mildew-stained shower curtain behind me, trying with all my might to keep my backside from touching it or the scummy walls.
I was always scared one of my Section 8, loony-bin reject neighbors would come barging in that warped-wood door that never seemed to latch just right. But today I didn't ...