From: Macdougal Street. Poem by Morgan Michaels

'I forgot'.

'You forgot what?

It rummaged in its coat and withdrew what looked like a Smart phone.

'View-Block. Damn! Let's only certain people see.

Donnie groaned.

'You're kidding. What about me, then? Why couldn't I see? '

'Blocked', said the ghost. 'More than two-blocked! Sorry.'

'Do you expect me to believe that? '

Then,

'Yes. Why would I think otherwise? '

He shook his head.

'View-Block? Unh-Unh.'

'What's wrong with that? Damned useful device.'

Donnie was on the point of saying he thought technology was going too far, but stopped.

'You made me look like a fool with that lady'.

'The goody just here? '

'Yeah, her.'

'Watch her', warned the ghost. Don't leave anything out you expect to see, again. She has a

skeleton key.'

'A skeleton key? '

Odd term, he thought, considering the speaker.

'Whatever. Searches everything. Swiped a tortoise shell brush from the last one. In this very

room. Saw it with my own eyes. "Impossible", she said, "you've got the only key. Oh, honey', she

said, you must've left it somewheres."

Donnie coughed.

'That sweet old lady? '

'Not so sweet', said the ghost. 'Believe me.'

'Did you say something? '

'Me? I'm a New Yorker- I don't want to be sued. I have my party and that's that.'

Donnie wanted to ask what party That was, but again, refrained.

'I suppose.' But he still thought it lax. The ghost looked incredulous.

'Where are you from, can I ask? '

'Michigan.'

'Ah. The territories.'

'Wha.....