keys picked up

Standing in my new empty apartment, my dumpy little place with a view of downtown and lake, one of the wooden frame windows doesn't want to stay up on its own and startles me with a clump sound against the peeling paint sill.

A screen is missing from the one that faces the lake and I imagine a drunken fall three stories down. I paced out spots for the kitchen table, the bed, the love seat and worry that I've haven't even listed half the stuff I'm bringing. The kitchen table is mentally moved to block my future death.

The paint is already one tenant old with punctures left where their photos were placed. Found artifacts in the drawers; a elementary class portrait of a little girl, an empty Mexican brand of sauce can, two red drawer handles with a single inadequate layer of red paint. A little thicker and I would consider leaving it.

A little dumpy place that holds none of my memories,
just a liberating emptiness.