The words over at Three Word Wednesday are jolt, ribbon and zeal.
The space smells of crayons that have been left in the sun too long.
A third-floor walkup, it’s utilitarian in composition. One great room. A small kitchen is pushed to one side. A smaller bath that’s often mistaken for a closet. Four cheery floor-to-ceiling windows offer views of a tree-lined street, the city skyline.
Lives have been lived in this cramped space.
The first, young lovers with a zeal for French chamber music and Sunday mornings spent in bed with pastries, coffee and the newspaper.
The recently divorced middle-aged woman who cried herself to sleep most nights and a fit of desperation plucked a gray-and-white kitten with a pink ribbon tied to its neck from a cardboard box at the subway stop to fill up her loneliness.
The artist who tortured himself with jolts of intravenous drugs and jugged wine until his long-suffering muse told him to fling himself off the George Washington Bridge.
A fresh coat of paint the color of eggshells awaits the newest tenant. A pilgrim from the wilderness with a few battered cardboard boxes and a beloved, battered IBM Selectric typewriter.
He picks absently at a flyspeck on the window with a fingernail as he watches life pulse in the city.
He turns from the windows and commits the crayon smell to memory, hoping one day to incorporate it into a story he’s yet to write.