“Several persons have died during the last year who never died before!”, declared the newspaper headline of the tacky colored Sunday edition which sat on the depressingly littered table by the small window which afforded a panoramic view of a large brick wall opposite. The telephone was ringing insistently as the tired looking man sitting beside the table angrily yelled, “WHO IS IT!” after each clattering, metallic burst of noise.
Somewhere, inside one of the many sad and worn looking boxes stacked against the wall facing the window, the quick sounds of a mouse’s frantic scuffling could be heard as it chewed up the important documents within savoring the sweet tastes the traces of some of the more benign chemicals that had been mixed in with the pulp.
An adventurous fly buzzed daringly about the room, zooming through the narrow canyons dividing the boxes, swooping low over tortured landscapes of debris, and circling high over the entire room occasionally brushing his busy wings across the very ceiling.
Little brown roaches rushed about in tight little zig zags over islands of clutter, occasionally pausing as if to gather their nerve before shooting out over to a neighboring nation of neglect to resume their fevered nibbling, energetic antennas flashing wildly before them all the while.
The man then sat upright as if suddenly electrified with resolve, went over to the dresser that never looked like much even before it had seen better days, and jerkily yanked out the top drawer. He then reached in, pushing with his hand, this way, then that, various piles of objects and papers and finally, gripping a tattered checkbook between his thumb and forefinger, lifted it out, then left the room, locked the door, and went downstairs to pay the rent.
Loof Lirpa 
