Cloudy

Jill's Place

I've known Jill since high school. I remember egging the science teachers house when he gave us a D-. Good memories.

I walked along Jill's street. It wasn't pretty. You had to wade through piles of rubbish at times, and beer cans rolling down the street, and every corner there was a gang of teenage boys smoking, and Jill's apartment block was mossy and graffiti on the door. Actually, there was pretty much graffiti everywhere. The theme of them usually being cuss words.

I rang the intercom. No answer. I rang it again. Nada. Again. Nothing at all. I pressed it down hard. Finally, there was a beep. I could just about make out Jill's voice through all the static. 'Sorry Shelby! The intercoms a little jammed. Come up!' And the door clicked. Jill lives on the third floor, so I would have usually taken the elevator, but there were mushrooms growing there, so I took to the stairs.

Jill was always tight for money, so this was all she could afford. 'Shelby! Girl, come here and give me the info.' She yelled from the stairs. I grinned and ran up the stairs. Jill was the opposite of me. She had short red hair, multiple piercings, and she usually wore flowy skirts and pastel colors. Jill's apartment was pretty decent, giving the rest of the building. She has a spongey red (also torn) leather couch, and a box tv that looked like it was from 2001.

Her kitchen was miniscule, a kid would be a tight fit in there, thus there were about five pizza boxes on the counters. Her bedroom was also small, just about fitting in a double bed and a wardrobe. But all in all, it looked nice and was clean.

I sat down on her couch and told her everything (and also the gossip about Gina and her boyfriend next door). She shook her head. 'What noise were you making even?' She asked when I had finished. 'Probably me singing in the shower. I belt Michael Jackson.' Jill rolled on the floor laughing. 'Dummie. That, Shelby, is why I have baths.'