CLOSET
CLOSET
During the evening some neighborhood children came in through my window and took up residence in my closet. It is not a large closet, but likewise they are not large children, nine, ten? I cannot see all the way to the rear but judging by the noise from their walkie talkies there must be at least a dozen of them, perhaps more.
They have issued a statement in which they have claimed the closet as the rightful possession of their homeland citing ancient texts written in a language I cannot decipher. They seem to have a great deal vested in this stand off and have even crafted a flag from handkerchiefs and a broom handle. They have told me already twice today that they would rather die than give the closet back to me.
All of this wouldn’t be too much of a bother were it not for my clothes and a few photo albums that I’ve had for some time. I’d like to get those back.
When I moved into this room the closet seemed the natural place to store those sorts things. I guess I was wrong. In the meantime I’ve worked out a deal where I exchange the shirts on the top shelf for loaves of bread, and cases of soda. All of the other shelves are off limits, they say, no matter what I offer.
Beyond what I have already told you the only other information I can give is that the smallest one is called Bradley, and has spat at me. Though the leader says there is no hope, I tend to look at situations like these optimistically, and am keeping my fingers crossed for some sort of peace accord/third party intervention by the month’s end.