Rock and Stone

When I get to the apartment, I give the taxi driver the money and a grateful thank-you and step out of the taxi. I place my feet onto the thoroughly-littered streets and look up at the slightly dilapidated building that was going to become my home...for who knows how long. I don't agree with the roofs standards; it's falling apart and shingles are awry. The doorstep is a hard jagged stone, crumbling like a box of Chips-Ahoy cookies. The walls have lackluster blue paint that seemed to have been peeling away for a while. But if I were to live anywhere at all in New York, this is the place.

I walk up the cobblestone steps, up to the front porch, in front of the chipped-away door. I knock. I feel the vibrations in the ground of someone's footsteps coming closer towards the door on the other side.

Suddenly, a burly, tough man answers the door. He has an expression on his face saying: What do you want? If you need nothing, go away.

I won't want to let this guy bother me. I can have a lot of patience at times, but then again, I can get to be in a bad mood.

“Uh, yeah, hi. I’m Amethyst. I’m here for the-”

“Oh, you,” The man says in a deep, rich, and somewhat irritated, voice, “Yeah, I was wondering when you’d come. Come in,” He says while gesturing me to follow him inside.

I step onto the dirty tiled floor and glance inside. It’s just about what I thought it’d look like.

It has a slightly-stained tan couch sitting on a drab red and gold rug. A small television set on a tiny wooden TV stand seems to wait to be used. It had dust on the top and the remotes looked broken.

The End

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