UNSOLD TWENTY-THIRD FLOOR 1987

(Late 70s space-disco evolving into early 80s Hi-NRG. Propulsive 4/4 drum machine beats, funky analog synth bass, bright.)

Act normal.

Act average.

Use the elevator.

Don’t touch the cameras.

Twenty-third floor, nobody bought.

Model suite couch and a parking spot.

Plastic plant in a room with a view.

Six fake tenants and a kettle for two.

We don’t live here.

We just blend.

Same black jacket.

Same pretend.

Smile at the mirror.

Wave at the guard.

Carry one grocery bag.

Look tired, not hard.

Unsold condo floor,

average as a crime.

Everybody quiet,

everybody on time.

Unsold condo floor,

don’t look rich, don’t run.

If they ask, we’re all named Kyle

and we’re waiting for the sun.

Unit 2304 stores the gear.

2305 keeps the fridge with beer.

2306 has the sink we use.

2307 has the stolen shoes.

We rotate laundry.

We rotate names.

We rotate passwords

and balcony games.

Don’t be charming.

Don’t be strange.

Normal people

never change.

Unsold condo floor,

average as a crime.

Everybody quiet,

everybody on time.

Unsold condo floor,

don’t look rich, don’t run.

If they ask, we’re all named Kyle

and we’re waiting for the sun.

The city built rooms

for money to sleep.

We moved in quiet

and learned not to keep.

Empty glass tower.

Full little lies.

One floor blinking

with raccoon eyes.

Act normal.

Walk slower.

Hold coffee.

Look lower.

Unsold condo floor,

average as a crime.

Everybody quiet,

everybody on time.

Unsold condo floor,

don’t look rich, don’t run.

If they ask, we’re all named Kyle

and we’re waiting for the sun.

Twenty-third floor.

No one lives here.

Exactly.