A lot of presences lurk in my apartment building, some human, some not.
The latest to declare itself is the Trash Room, previously known as a modest place, where a resident could leave, yes, trash--old food, read newspapers, whatever. All would rest there quietly until the removal people came to take it away.
Maybe this was too calm for the Room. Maybe it wanted action, adventure, a touch of danger. The other day, it took a hostage.
The taking wasn't secret; the hostage's pleas for help could be heard through the door, but would-be rescuers in the building couldn't open that door no matter how hard they tugged and kicked and hammered.
What to do? Call the cops? No, nobody robbed or assaulted, that wasn't it. An ambulance? No was was sick or hurt, yet. The Fire Dept.? Yes, what a good idea!
The firefighters arrived quickly and opened the door about as easily as you'd expect of men used to battling twelve foot flames. Hostage freed, crisis over.
We residents are feeling pretty good. The freed hostage is truly happy. The Trash Room? We hope it''s learned a lesson but only time, as they say, will tell.