The Apartment on 6th Avenue

The Mojo Collector

The shadows thrown by the setting sun passed across the building, consuming the warmth of its ocher bricks. Pigeons flew in from overhead, roosting in the soffits of the structure, evidence of their occupation splattered on the pavement below. Traffic lights shimmered red and green like baubles on holiday trees. Sok approached the building and entered the lobby, taking the old elevator up to apartment #817. She carried a tub of bai cha and a plastic bag containing laundry detergent and aspirin.

They met at Hun Kru’s apartment on Tuesdays and Sundays in the evening at suppertime, each bringing a little something for the teacher’s meals. Sometimes only three students showed up, sometimes as many as seven. The dance master also saw girls during the day if she could arrange it, but that was difficult. There were always enthusiasts at first, homesick for their homeland, free from parental disapproval, free…

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