#617. past progressive: 10:20 sun crest past the Richardson, winter steam billowing from the pillars of Portage & Main. rattle handle, the security guard’s round. window ledge 6 floors up, cigarette ash, the impulse to jump fluttering weakly in the belly. lamplight over hardwood stained the colour of cashews. Lhasa De Sela singing the same songs again. a little amaretto with the cheap scotch. the walls covered with paper. my blood turning to ink.
#714. simple present: vacant suite. the company of traffic sings through the window. fatigue drips from the pipes above. the mechanized buzz of the hall fluorescent lulls a flat-scape, leaks under the door. sirens cast into harmony of elevator and rad: hiss, whir and wail.
In 2011 I rented studio 617 in the Exchange District building known to some as the Silpit, to others as the Whitlaw. This fort was built one floor up on the opposite side of the building in vacant suite 714. It offered an occasion to remember forgotten things from 617, and to weave a past/6th floor dimension into the document of this present space.