And houses in Manchester are rumored to be haunted, the local theater, too. Given that the people I've seen roaming the streets look a bit slanted, even tortured, I can only imagine that once they've pass on to the other world, their ghosts continue to haunt the streets and buildings.
One night, the gang had to pull together wardrobing for a show from the costume warehouse and left me at Becca's. Her apartment is on the top floor of an old house. I walked in and shivered. The doors open to a huge staircase with a weathered wood banister. It reminded me of Norman's house in Psycho. Great. Why did my brain have to go there? I bolted up the three flights, fiddling with the key in the door, of course, and made it inside. Lights. Lights! Just find a lightswitch! Done. Maybe even the attic apartment, it was pretty hot, so I opened windows. They slid open and stayed open, weighted or counter-weighted, those kinds of windows in old houses that somehow just stay open. Even the windows freaked me out. In the city everything seems to be set to slam shut, close, lock. To keep things, people out. Or in. Protected, secured. And in the city, you just don't get attached to a building. Who wants to spend an eternity 
haunting a studio apartment? So, I composed myself and got some work done. Even the wind blowing into the apartment felt alive. Spirited. I keep wondering, do I need to get out of the city more? And into the country? Screen porches, rocking chairs, climbing trees. Creating a game out of pine cones and needles. Have I lost touch with the simple things in life?
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