The waft, musty vintage Captain Blood, and The White Rajah dozing on the rack The Count of Monte Cristo falls from the overhanging shelf The many DVD’s stapled to the wall tell stories through thousands of pixilated colors My brother guesses the password to the black Macbook lying on my desk The blaring sirens attempting to catch the thief from the streets float through my window as I attempt at my French conjugation of avoir as the stacked kitchen waits for me to arrive only to serve at a walks away from my room The fifth avenue mansions line up along the park as The chalk screeches across the board like a howler monkey attracting females