Amorphous House

We all lived in a house together my junior year. It was made of dark wood and had enormous windows stretching from the floor to the angled roof on the side facing the street. It was tucked away in birch trees on the corner of the road and had a wrap around porch we used to watch beauties crossing the street, students biking to class (which we alternated doing as the day went on); where we smoked cigarettes or tea and drank. Two dwellers lived in the basement, one on the second floor overlook, one in the living room by the stairs to the basement and there always seemed to be more, although I can’t remember where they lived. The floor was always dirty. One night we used a ladder to climb to the roof. We were all wasted. No one fell. We set up with bent knees and watched the stars slip down the gentle slope of the roof. They never stopped sliding. Eventually, we climbed down to meet them where they had scorched the earth. We each climbed into the pits they had made. I don’t remember when but somebody came, near the break of dawn, and used a shovel to bury us.