Thursday, February 5, 2009

zero tolerance


Fuck. If I sank any lower, I'd be breakfasting in the apartment directly below.

It is a temporary flat, set aside for women seeking a quiet life - alone - and over the years that I've lived here it has housed many changing faces. Estranged partners and husbands come and go with impunity and by invitation only. Late at night, I have often heard the sounds of splintering furniture merge with fracturing bones and the softer crunch of cartilage.

I no longer call the police like some overwrought character actor in a B-Movie with the receiver cradled against my cheek.

Zero Tolerance is a fictitious comfort zone for yuppies and social workers.

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