No home, alone

The day's are busy

But the night's are quiet

Returning to an apartment

That is not my home.

The door opens inwards

And all I can hear is the sound of the refrigerator

As the blinds move slightly due to the open window

I left the fan on, and it turns slowly.

I kick off my shoes and open my laptop

At the small kitchen table that was purchased from Ikea

And open YouTube

I press play on some videos while I walk around this house that is not mine

Picking up and sorting my belongings into neater piles

I get a glass of water

The taste is funny, I'm not used to this LA tap water

They say in New York, we get water straight from the spring

It's something I've never verified

I look out the open blinds at the alleyway in Venice, CA

A scream arrives at my ears from a distance. A shout, and another

It's probably someone talking to their friend

I close the blinds

And realize

This is one of the in between times of life

When the fan spins slowly overhead

And some day it will stop