The apartment had never been well lit, but with the light from Jady’s aquarium gone, you couldn’t even see who was sitting next to you. I missed the aquarium. I missed the buzz of the florescent light. I missed everything in that room, and every detail that I could remember from last May. All eleven of us who had crammed into that two bedroom apartment spent our evenings sitting on the floor, on arms of sofas and chairs. All of us talking at once. The noise, the spirit, the fresh feeling of youth in the room.
I missed what this place was before Jady had taken her aquarium. Before Jensen took his television and the radio (which actually belonged to Marcus). Before Erin had taken her bookshelf, books and knick knacks included. Before Marcus took Bethany and the dog. Before Lindsey took her life.
Jessie lit a cigarette. I watched the orange glow float from her lips to where it smoldered in the ash tray. She cleared her throat and after a heavy sigh said, ”This place is becoming more and more of a ghost town.”
