I know this is very different from what I usually write. Bare with me. I hope u all enjoy. _________
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zoeaintshit
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I made my way up the block on a particularly gray afternoon in the city. One of those days where it drizzles a little bit every few hours, but never a steady rain. Puddles collected on the concrete and reflected the tall New York skyscrapers above.
I admired the beads of water that had collected on my black leather boots as I tried to process my day. Well—whats left of it.
I'm stoned. I'm always stoned when I go to visit my abuela. I can't deal with her. I love her to death, don't get me wrong, but she can be a little...eccentric.
You'll see what I mean.
Her brownstone building sat sandwiched between two sparkly white newly-renovated ones. Basically, my abuela and the 3 other old ladies who live in it refused to leave while the rest of the block got updated. I could hear her voice in my head:
'Mierda!! They can do whatever they want with this place when I'm dead.' (Bullshit)
I used my key to open her front door. I was immediately greeted by the familiar slapping of long strings of red plastic beads that hang in her doorway.
"Abuela?" I called
"QUIEN ESTA AHI?!" She yelled (WHO'S THERE?!)
"Its me, Zoe."
Who else would it be?
My grandmother is very superstitious. She practices voodoo. Yes, I'm forreal. She casts spells, believes in gods goddesses, good luck, bad luck, demons, angels—you get it. She's... different to say the least.
I think all that stuff is cool, crystals, tarot cards and whatnot—but my grandmother just takes it too far for me.
Her short frame came from around the corner. Her long, silver whispy hair flowed behind her. She was in holding an egg in her palms.
