
FINDING THE JOY by John Chrostek
No one had spoken up for me. Not a single soul on my street told the officers they had the wrong idea, that I was a pillar of the community.
John Chrostek is a former bookseller, current remote worker who writes stories and poems. Said writing has appeared in X-R-A-Y, HAD, No Contact, Scrawl Place and plenty elsewhere. Find him on Twitter at @yoncrowstack.
No one had spoken up for me. Not a single soul on my street told the officers they had the wrong idea, that I was a pillar of the community.
I live at the bottom of an old apartment tower and my tub won’t stop filling up with water. The building, weary from a century of American life, funnels its sewage down through my unit’s pipes until it all gets stuck up tight and rises with a fury, bubbling and nasty from the drain. For days, my every waking moment has been spent dumping bucket after bucket of the hot, dim water down the toilet and calling out for help. The calling out is pointless, of course, for what raw marrow remains of my voice gets trapped in my apartment,…