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Read the Blog in full

Monday, October 25, 2010

Hey! You! Get Out of My Way! Part 9 Enter the 9th Circle

The next thing I knew I was standing in front of a door that had a sign with “Do Not Enter” on it and a hand written sign that added “Fuck Off” in case you missed the first message.
How did I get here?  Only moments ago that buzzer had sounded and everyone at the bar jumped into action.   Don immediately took an old bedside tray from behind the bar and on it he placed a clean empty mason jar, a mason jar with water, two baby food jars and a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes.  He pointed to the door next to the stairs and told me to go stand by it. When I did he pushed a buzzer and signaled for me to push the door open.  I went through the door but blocked it open with my foot.  I looked at Don pleadingly; he laughed and said “You’ll know when you get there.”  He then made the sign of the cross, I glared at him.
Behind me in the dim lighting I could see a staircase; I believed this is where I was supposed to go. With my knees knocking I climbed the stairs.  On the second landing there was a bathroom that had a sliding door and a sign stating that it was indeed the employee bathroom.  At the end of the hall was the business office.  The door was slightly open and I could hear the sound of a far off television set.  I looked in and could see no one in the room, so I continued my climb.
On the third floor I came to the door with the “Do Not Enter “sign on it.  I held my breath. Lifting my knee I balanced the tray and I knocked. Nothing, so I knocked again. There was no answer so I reached out and turned the knob.  
I was not prepared for what I saw or worse what I smelled.  The first thing I smelled was cats, maybe a hundred cats.  There where cats alright.  There were cats everywhere.  There were cats sitting on the table, cats on the fridge, cats on the floor and cats on the window sill. 
There were also mason jars. There were thousands of mason jars all half filled with a yellow liquid.  The mason jars took up every single inch of free space there was. That is if you include all the newspapers and the over flowing ashtrays.  The heat in the apartment was over overbearing but the windows were closed and steamed up. 
“Hello?” I called out feeling like I was in the movie Last House on the left. No answer, so I called out again. “Hello?” A voice that sounded like it was spoken through rotting leaves answered. It said “Who the fuck are you?” I looked down as a cat wound around my ankles.
To be continued……………………………

Geoffrey Doig-Marx holds all written and electronic rights to his writting "A Day in the Life". It can not be reprinted in part or whole without his written consent.

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