I’m on an upper floor yet my digs have bars, and gates. Such is life in da Big City. I spend time watching the shadows drift across my floors, and other surfaces. Crisscrossed by bars. Mind it was not always so. When did crime become so bad that window bars were needed so high up?

It never fails to fascinate.

There are spirits here. Also in other parts of the building. As there are in all structures that have had many generations live in them. People lived in my rooms over the last 120 years. I often wonder about them.

What was said in my living room in 1915 1927 1955 1978?

What was being cooked for dinner in my kitchen on this date on April 5, in 1924? That, and who ate it. Was it a single Queer elder like me?  A couple about to have kids? Perhaps another retired elder. One wonders. 

The hopes dreams, and nightmares of a century, and near a quarter. 

…one wonders.