270. EMPIRE HOUSE

EMPIRE HOUSE
I lived for a while at Empire House in
Philadelphia's brainfed ghetto - now it's a
karate studio on its lower level - when
it was still a place to be. It may have actually
been 'Brainard' as I recall, but we were all
so messed up on creativity we called it
'brainfed' and laughed it off. A vast
library on the second floor, a sitting room,
like nothing you ever saw. We kept two
dogs there as well; fine, upstanding whippets,
sleek as hell. I painted in my small studio
on nine. The mechanical elevator, pulled by
levers and chains, always groaned. Plenty of
warning for any approach - which was its only
good point. Its bad point: it seemed to take
fourteen years to get anywhere. One day,
I just ran out of time.
-
It's awful like that - out the doorway, a few
fine trees, the song of a catbird in the air -
and then one day the seasons change, the
contractors come, money changes hands,
and the yard turns into pavement,
and they've taken all the land.
-
...As I've said, (though there's nothing
left around it) Empire House
still stands.