The aftermath

A less than salubrious return awaited me. Tumbling from the car of Wilmer’s most accommodating father, with whom I had hitched a lift, I found myself once again be-suitcased in front of the Korvezee. I shuddered as the memories of that first empty-room day returned in a sudden wave of déjà vu.

The day I left they were preparing for a party in the flat above me, “Pirates of the Korvezee”, a celebration for two flatmates who were moving out to go traveling the word. As I had wheeled my suitcase out to take the bus to the station they were unloading a whole truck full of music equipment, to the combined surprised of me and the people organizing the party. “We just asked a friend about the music, and he said he’d take care of it” said a bewildered tenant.

The party had obviously been a success, as there was broken glass littering the area where I park my bike. (The broken-glass scale is a most accurate way to measure this, like the Richter scale). But alas that was not all. When I entered the stairwell my nose informed me that it had been recently used as a urinal. My neighbour later told me the gory details “Yes, they were seeing if they could pee all the way down from the top to the bottom floor without hitting any of the handrails.”
Unfortunately they didn’t succeed. Its three months later now and that staircase still smells despite being mopped twice. Such that I would rather walk the long way around and take the other staircase up (the one that smells like drying linen). What had they been drinking, pure ammonia?

Alas there were some casualties of the Torino trip. Basil and parsley, may you rest in peace. I entered my apartment to see their sad dead leaves drooping over the edges of the pot. But there is always a price to pay for good times.