She Lived in a Shower

She lived in a shower in the attic of a hippie house. Or, really, more of a sort of hippie add-on to the roof of an apartment building. It was in Philadelphia, maybe, or possibly Boston, or Brooklyn in a pinch. About six stories high, plus the hippie house on top. The lawn of the hippie house was tarpaper, obviously. There were three or four mopeds on the lawn and they were owned by long-haired assholes. The assholes came up from the building below at some point, banged open the big metal door onto the roof, grabbed their mopeds and pushed them loudly down the stairs. She never left the shower. It was up to you to go visit her up there. She had an intercom and could hear what the hippies were doing. She seemed sad. You could touch her leg and she would smile at that but she wouldn’t move. Maybe she couldn’t move. Might’ve had sores from lying on the shower floor all day She had windows, at least. The windows faced a different rooftop, one without a hippie house on it, just pipes and boxes and that kind of thing. I went down to where the hippies were and they didn’t even seem know she was living there. They never shower, hippies.