Apartment 711

My apartment number was 711,

and although mostly the studio

was kept neat and clean, its nu-

merical designation was not nec-

essarilly lucky for me. I never

believed in the good fortunes

associated with rabbit’s feet,

horse shoes or numbers on dice

anyway. I stepped on more side-

walk cracks than I could ever

count for my mom had passed

away many years before. I was

separated from my second wife

due to years of friction and strife.

Seems we never could manage

seeing eye to eye. So, I moved

and found a place of my own in

a city far away. 711 was the nu-

merical designation of my place.

Some might call it a lucky sign;

others would relate it with a

convenience store chain. Hey,

some would ask, you open 24/7

too? Smart ass, I would answer

back. No, it’s just a secret hide-

out, a safe place where I can act

like the writer Hemingway and

quietly drink my way through

the lonely days. 711, a damn

good view of the city from up

there, especially on cold and

rainy days. Luck or good fortune

have nothing to do with that.

And no, my mother didn’t die

from a broken back.

Chris Hanch 7-6-19