As in walking down them.
As in they open into corridors and aren’t tight at all.
You can’t stick a bed in them, but a couch? Definitely.
There’s one at the rec center.
I was walking through a wall, looking out the peepholes while folks exercised and hydrated, and right by the pool was a couch probably a few decades old, a little ragged, with chip particles in the cushions.
Now, I think it’s bad that people are doing this, and that I’m doing this, but I am doing this, and I will.
I like it, it’s collegial.
But without the work of hanging out.
It takes concentration to wiggle in, but the rest’s super easy.
I could bring a camp chair and sit for hours.
Better than watching a log burn on Netflix.
Better than texting friends who just blab about themselves.
They say so much shit that isn’t true, and I know because I sit in their walls.
And I know some of them do it too.
I was stepping into my bathroom wall once when I heard someone get up and run out.
An iPhone was still gleaming when I picked it up.
I can’t decode the lock but I recognize the cat on the background for sure.
How many people do it?
All I can say is behind the veggie aisle at Kroger there’s a lamp, a trashcan, and a vending machine.
If they installed a vending machine, it’s bound to be a pretty solid number of folks.
The couch in that wall is super comfortable. Leather. Clean.
There’s a fucking ashtray.
It’s like heaven sitting there, watching mist hiss over the lettuce.
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Addison Zeller’s fiction appears in 3:AM, Epiphany, Ligeia, minor literature[s}, ergot., trampset, and elsewhere. He lives in Wooster, Ohio.