Temporary Address E1C1
By: Arjun Blackwood ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Episode 1: Temporary Stay
Chapter 1: Slow Living
February 18th, 2024. 6:25 AM.
That is the first thing I see as I unlock my phone. Just to realize that what woke me up was not my alarm. It's the sounds of feral cats running around, fighting in my attic.
Go mate somewhere else, mate, I thought to myself.
I was never great with rhymes, which is ironic for an English major, I know.
I stayed there for another minute staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. The room already felt humid despite it still being early morning.
My stomach growled.
Right.
Then once again a little louder.
Ok, ok, I'm going.
I slowly got up and walked to the kitchen.
Well, kitchen might be generous.
I opened the fridge just to find… nothing.
Huh.
Right.
I forgot, that I forgot, that I never went grocery shopping.
There was only bottled water, half a bottle of chili sauce, and an egg I no longer trusted.
Well, “Who am I kidding,” I said to myself, “I don't even cook anymore.”
Somewhere along the way, eating became less of a daily activity and more of a survival mechanic. Convenience store food, tons and tons of snacks, cheap diner meals during shifts, reheated leftovers at two in the morning, coffee strong enough to replace proper sleep.
Cooking implies free time.
Or energy.
I haven't had much or allowed myself of either lately.
I grabbed my wallet and keys before stepping outside.
===
The second-floor corridor was narrow enough that if two people opened their doors at the same time, somebody would probably get injured.
Which is exactly what almost happened.
The door beside mine suddenly swung open right as I walked past it.
Bonk.
“Shit.”
I stepped back on instinct while Clara nearly dropped the trash bag in her hand.
We both froze awkwardly for a second.
“…Morning,” she said.
“Technically, yeah.” Both of us knowing well that the sun is not even halfway up.
She stared at me for a moment before laughing quietly.
That was the first time I've heard her laugh, actually.
I met her a few days ago after Marianne introduced us downstairs briefly.
Neighbor.
Freelance illustrator.
Works remotely.
That's about everything I know about her.
Today she looked like she woke up ten minutes ago and decided to live with it.
Oversized shirt, messy hair tied in a bun, sleepy eyes.
“You heading out?” she asked.
“Trying to find food before my organs shut down.”
“That serious?”
“My fridge currently has the emotional atmosphere of a hotel room. Or a motel parking lot.”
She laughed again.
“You still living off convenience store food?”
“For legal reasons, I am not obligated to answer that.”
“You look like instant noodle nutrition.”
“That feels unnecessarily hostile this early in the morning.”
“You're wearing office pants with sandals.”
I looked down.
Right.
Plain white t-shirt.
Black slacks.
Pink rubber flip-flops.
Somehow that combination perfectly summarized my life right now.
“That’s depressing.”
“A little.”
We walked downstairs together.
===
The first floor was quiet. Marianne probably already left for church. Noah was most likely still asleep.
The humid morning air hit immediately after we stepped outside.
The town still felt strange to walk through.
Not unfamiliar.
That would've been easier.
Instead everything felt slightly different from memory. Smaller roads. Shorter buildings. Distances that used to feel far now suddenly walkable.
At the edge of the street, a school bus passed by slowly.
The fading yellow paint, children singing and laughing inside while the driver looked stressed.
I stared at it a little longer than necessary.
“Hm?” Clara looked at me.
“Nothing.”
Me and my brother used to run like crazy so we wouldn't get left behind by those things.
A bus, huh…
For a moment, my thoughts drifted back to last week.
The overnight ride back here barely felt real at the time.
Most people on the bus slept normally.
I couldn't.
I spent most of the trip staring outside while roadside lights blurred past the windows.
The closer we got to town, the quieter I became.
Then sometime near dawn, familiar roads started appearing outside.
Old stores.
Roadside food stalls this early in the morning.
Faded signboards I haven't seen in years.
And suddenly it hit me.
I was actually back.
Not visiting.
Not taking a short break.
Back.
I still remember stepping off the bus carrying two bags while humid morning air hit immediately.
The silence bothered me the most.
After years in the city, the absence of noise almost felt unnatural.
No trains.
No endless traffic.
No crowds moving like they were late for something every hour of the day.
Just motorcycles.
Birds.
Distant laugh and conversations.
And–
“You zoned out again,” Clara said.
“Hm?”
“You do that a lot.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“From what?”
“Being tired professionally.”
That got another laugh out of her.
The main road was already crowded despite it still being morning.
Families walking around.
Food stalls already full.
People carrying groceries while talking casually outside stores.
Everyone here seemed to be happy with where they are.
Or maybe they just weren't rushing all the time.
I still couldn't tell which one bothered me more.
Near the intersection, Clara slowed down.
“I'm heading this way.”
“Oh.”
I nodded.
“Well, thanks for not killing me with your door earlier.”
“You walked into the danger zone yourself.”
“Victim blaming.”
“You survived.”
“I barely did you criminal.”
She smiled slightly before walking off.
“Try eating vegetables eventually, Ferdinand.”
“No promises.” I softly yelled.
===
I ended up at SunSway around twenty minutes later.
The place was already busy.
Not overwhelming yet, but busy enough that I could instantly tell Sundays here were probably hell during brunch rushes.
Some things stay universal no matter where you work.
The smell hit first.
Coffee.
Butter.
Fried food.
Fresh bread.
Heat.
For a second, it reminded me too much of old diner shifts back in the city.
I grabbed a booth seat near the window and opened my laptop almost automatically while waiting for food.
Job listings.
Again.
Administrative assistant.
Marketing associate.
Remote copywriter.
Contract editor.
Endlessly scrolling.
Most of them required experience I technically had.
None of them made me feel anything anymore.
I applied for all of them anyway.
A woman stopped beside my table while refilling my water.
Around early thirties maybe. Wavy dark hair tied neatly behind her head. Calm expression despite the chaos happening around her.
“You planning to stay here all day again?” she asked casually.
I glanced at the laptop.
“…That obvious?”
“You've been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”
“Modern employment is… spiritually exhausting.”
“Hm.”
She looked at the screen briefly.
“Job hunting?”
“Trying to.”
“So. You new around here?”
“Actually from here. Technically.”
“That explains the existential expression.”
I laughed quietly.
“Elena,” she said.
“Ferdinand.”
“Well Ferdinand, breakfast should be out soon unless the kitchen catches fire first. Coffee is always refillable, just call me or Dante. Unless we're passed out behind the counter.”
“That sounds reassuring.”
“You'd be surprised how often optimism is operationally necessary in this industry.” smiling softly.
And just like that, she walked away to another table.
===
I stayed there longer than intended.
Bad habit.
Back in the city, cafés and diners became places where I could pretend I wasn't going home to another tiny rented apartment and unfinished work waiting on my laptop.
Even now, unemployed and back in my hometown, my body still moved like I was late for something.
Eventually I gave up on job hunting for the day and started walking home.
The park near the elementary school was still there.
Smaller than I remembered.
Slides.
Seesaws.
Monkey bars.
A few kids were running around near the swings while their parents sat nearby talking to each other.
There was a time when entire afternoons used to feel endless.
Back then, the biggest problem in life was whether it would rain before we finished playing.
Funny how ten years can completely ruin a person's sense of scale.
By the time I reached the apartment building again, the sun was already starting to set. I didn't realize how much time I spend walking around looking at old buildings in town.
Clara was sitting outside, on the second-floor corridor railing with her sketchbook resting on her knees.
“Oh,” she looked down. “You're alive.”
“Barely.”
“How was the food?”
“Emotionally stabilizing.” I answered after a few seconds of unnecessary thoughts.
“That good?”
“I almost cried over scrambled eggs.”
“That’s… concerning.”
I leaned against the railing beside her.
At some point the conversation just… kept going.
Small things mostly.
The town. The buildings.
Terrible internet providers.
Convenience store coffee somehow tasting better after midnight.
The city.
Work.
Nothing important. Just a normal yapping session between two neighbors.
And somehow, by the time I finally checked my phone again, it was already close to seven.
“Huh.”
“What's up?”
“We've been talking for like… an hour and a half.”
Clara looked equally surprised.
“Oh.”
The sky had already gone dark without us noticing.
That felt weirdly unfamiliar.
“I should probably buy dinner,” I said.
“Preferably vegetables.”
“Let's not get unrealistic now.”
===
The convenience store down the street was brightly lit against the dark evening road.
Inside, tired customers wandered between aisles under fluorescent lights.
Tired office workers.
Students buying snacks.
People too exhausted to cook. My kind of people.
I grabbed the cheapest curry set available, a bag of chips, and brought them to the counter.
The cashier glanced at me once.
Short dark brown hair with neon green highlights.
Sharp eyes.
Expression somewhere between tired, depressed, and judgmental.
“You look homeless,” she said bluntly.
I stared at her for a second.
“…Good evening to you too?”
“You looked more alive yesterday.”
“That’s reassuring somehow. Thanks.”
She scanned the curry set.
“Rough week?”
“Rough several years, honestly.”
That actually got a small chuckle out of her.
“Hm. Fair enough, ja”
Her nametag read: Yuki.
I grabbed the plastic bag before stepping outside again.
The night air felt quieter than the city ever did.
No trains.
No police sirens. No ambulances.
No endless crowd noise or drunk people yelling slurs.
Just distant televisions, motorcycles, and dogs barking at stray cats somewhere far away.
The chilled air mingled with the vivid chorus of crickets and frogs, singing in harmony.
You like that one? Yeah, I can be poetic sometimes.
As I walked back home, I found myself looking at the apartment windows around me.
Families eating dinner.
People watching TV together.
Ordinary things.
Everyone here seemed to know where they belonged.
And honestly?
I still had no idea what I was supposed to do now.
===
SNS:
@GrumpyTeflonPan:
Even if life gets in the way, carve out 12 minutes of your day to write the novel you've always dreamed of.
You never know, those 8 months could turn out to be the most meaningful 4 years of your life.
February 18th 2024 • Yapper for YouPhone
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