Apartment twelve. It was not a place I had been before. I had never even ventured up the stairs in the past eighteenish months. I didnt know what it was like. I still havent ventured high enough for the top half of the building to exist in my mind. But this time we all wandered up. It was an open house. And why not see what these places are valued at?
We walked in and it smelled like an old lady. I am saying this only to give you the complete picture. It had the muskyness and had carpet, something foreign to our feet these days. The art was old and the place was bare but not in a pristine clean way, in an unlived way. And then we all seem to know. Someone must have died there. That was why they were selling the unit. Two floors up and possibly a ghost roaming. There are plenty of older people in our building so it wasnt a surprise. Just a thought that we chose to call realization.
Needless to say we do not feel the need to move upstairs, at least not while we plan on living. It felt like more the type of place you grow old and die.
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