Boxes

There are three ways for an apartment to be, down the block by the ocean, and on display, while the click clack of the bike's gear echoed out, were all of them. One, plentiful and lit with soft light and, holding a harsher sort of life within, always up, was the type facing the sea.

There are three ways for an apartment to be, down the block in the new neighborhood, and on display, while the thrum of the bike's wheels slithered out, were all of them. The second, austere in its faux-marble facade, distant in its pretend gravitas facing out, always out, was the type facing inwards, towards the courtyard.

There are three ways for an apartment to be, down the block where the city extends, and on display, while the screech of the bike's breaks cried out, were all of them. The last, proud in its way but decrepit, adorned by necessity with the trappings of labor, always down, was the type no one ever talks about,

where the boxes let out a sigh as they're born.