My room number was 203. I went back upstairs but still couldn't find the door.

Perhaps, I thought, I might start from here and build another life without knowing where my old life had gone.

THE ROOMING HOUSE BY FRED SKOLNIK 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 04

I got back late in the afternoon. Cars were double-parked in a roped-off area in front of the building but there were no cars parked at the curb, which I found odd. A teenage girl came by on a skateboard and at the end of the street veered to the left and continued down a side street rather than continuing straight ahead as I had expected her to do. I went inside and climbed the stairs. My room was on the second floor but when I got there I didn't recognize the door so I went up another flight of stairs thinking that the second floor might be the one above it, the ground floor not being counted, but I didn't find my room there either and as the doors had no numbers on them I was at a loss and couldn't understand what had happened. Some of the doors were open and the rooms seemed larger than mine and men were comi…