Jayla, Ghosthuntir

In the ninety degree sizzle of a New York City summer sun Jayla took a breath and leaked out a sigh as she climbed down the rungs of the manhole ladder in step with the rhythm of the drip-drip-drip of a rusted sewer pipe. The black sewer tunnel nicknamed 'Sister Squat', although it lay in squalor, provided a sanctuary screaming meditative retreat, a retreat from the ghosts that haunted the sidewalks and storefronts of the Lower East Side.

Around 2 AM at a subway stop further downtown, on Delancey and Essex, Jayla had hopped the gate in front of the public plexiglass working and sleeping container that the manager had shut her eyes for long enough of a moment for Jayla to escape notice. She headed uptown, getting out the subway sneaking up the stairs to the northwest corner of the West 4th and Washington Square Park. She waded through the wafting of the smell of cigarettes and booze that oozed in a haze about the park emanating from a pack of punks.

But Jayla instead was getting ready for bed, lay down on a mattress in a corner in the squat and shut her eyes, wanting to sleep and forget about the already innumerable ghosts in her head and spectres of her past lives that had haunted her in eternal return. There would be time for ghost hunting in the morning. For in her sleep Jayla would dream of city skies that shined with variety of experience, the possibilities of being uncompromised by the perpetual haunts.

The End

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