Their apartments radiate out from the stack of stairs connected to the elevator shaft that opens up onto the street.
The lace looks forward. The brick turns a shoulder, slyly stepping its own entry down to the ground out back.
– “Ownership! Bah! We’ve had it since the beginning! But as the rain comes pouring down through their ceilings you can’t get six goddamn people to agree that the roof needs to be fixed!”
–
“Don’t you have a council?”
I sit on the piece of styrofoam insulation on the bench in front of block 9 and watch them play cards. They take turns slamming cards on the table and explaining the situation to me.
–
“The dom suvet”
“3 people”
“and one reserve”
“There is a president. He gets the three together. If someone wants to do something, they approve and sign it.”
“Then no one can argue the decision.”