I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen

I Just Want My Pants Back by David Rosen

Author:David Rosen [Rosen, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction:Humor
ISBN: 9780767927949
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2007-08-07T04:57:40.645637+00:00


11

It was almost midnight by the time I got downtown. I walked west on Eleventh Street, away from the hubbub of Union Square, where the train dropped me. I whistled “God Save the Queen” as I crossed Seventh Avenue. It was always amazing to me how once you crossed Seventh, the din of the city died down and, just like that, you were alone on a peaceful street lined with beautiful old townhouses. Uma Thurman lived somewhere on this block, and I looked into the oversized windows as I walked past, hoping for a glimpse of her or any other wealthy, naked woman who might care to put on a show for the have-lesses. Nothing doing, though. Empty rooms and fancy chandeliers were all that was on display. I kept moving through the light and shadows, looking this way and that, soaking it in. I was in no rush. I turned the corner and sidestepped two men kissing against a mailbox, taking up a good chunk of sidewalk. The air felt delicious and nutritious, even though I was a bit anxious about this wedding thing. I’d put some work into that soon, I told myself. Maybe this weekend.

I opened the door to that good old eyesore, 99 Perry, and went in. I walked over to the mailboxes; I hadn’t checked mine earlier. They were located underneath and behind the staircase in a little area I liked to call the “Rats’ Nest.” I opened mine up, just coupons, a postcard for some band I didn’t remember hearing, and a cell-phone bill. Suddenly I felt something on my back and I spun around.

“Oh, did I scare you?” asked a skinny, scraggly-ass white guy. He was wearing a blue T-shirt and ripped jeans, his short brown hair a mess. You could play connect-the-dots with his acne and probably draw The Last Supper. “Sorry, sir.” He realized he was looming over me and backed up a step.

“Who are you?” I asked, trying to seem casual. It was cramped back there. Something felt weird and I didn’t like it.

“I’m a friend of Robert’s,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for him, but it was cold out so I just came in. The front door wasn’t locked.”

It was true, the lock on the door sucked. I edged past him toward the stairs. This was definitely one of those guys I had seen out my apartment window that day with Patty. “Yeah, well if he’s not here, you should probably wait outside, know what I mean? Robert doesn’t like people waiting inside the building.” I was bluffing but figured Robert would be with me on that.

“I know, but it’s getting cold, man,” he said, scratching his scalp vigorously. “I think he’s up there, just sleeping is all. Could you knock on his door for me, sir? I’ll wait down here, I don’t want to intrude. I just think he may be sleeping.” No, I didn’t like this sketchy motherfucker who called me “sir” at all.

“No,” I said firmly. “He must be out, the buzzer is really loud.



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