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psst! | summer 2018 15
Moving On Up
SEBASTIEN’S MOVE FROM ODESSA TO DOWNTOWN ST. PETERSBURG
Written by Sebastien Theodore
I WAKE UP TO A HYDRAULIC PILE DRIVER EVERY
morning. I live on the southern 400 block of downtown
St. Petersburg, Florida, and every morning from about
100 yards away the initial blast of a gigantic machine goes off
at 7:22.
Nowadays, I generally sleep through what follows,
a rhythmic clanging of metal striking more metal that
The Times’ Lane DeGregory described as the “sound of
progress” that really just pisses most people off i. I barely
even notice it anymore.
My place is the very definition of a city apartment - tiny,
with long-plank regularly stained wood floors and thin
windows. Except for those floors, everything is washed in
white - the walls, the stove, the fridge. The walls are made
from a brittle material that crumbles a little when I mount
a few of the paintings I brought with me. I haven’t been
compelled to paint yet, so white will have to do for now.
The neighbors are charming, right around my age group
of late twenties to early thirties. And in keeping with what
I’ve seen about the city, people here are exceedingly nice.
A girl on the first floor very spontaneously baked me a
batch of cookies, such a lovely gesture despite them being
burnt into the Stone Age, but it’s the thought that counts. I
returned the favor at Christmas time, minus a layer of char.
I moved here in June. A long time ago I changed
apartments during the hottest months in the year, and that
choice has followed me in the writing of every lease I’ve
signed since. My last place, a two story, 3 bedroom, two
and a half bathroom sitting on eight acres was way too
big for me. My parents, who live 6 miles east and an inch
north, bought it years ago, and I conveniently moved in
after one of their tenants. I occupied the whole house and
held out on living with roommates as long as I could.
There’s a lake on the property overgrown with
indomitable duckweed that grows about as fast as
something out of a comic book. Beyond that is a swamp
adjacent to the backside of a couple of neighborhood bars
and a barber shop and an empty plot used once a month
to host a farmers’ market. About once a week, the main
source of nighttime light pollution floods in from the
massive lights at the nearby high school’s football stadium.
Apart from that, on any given cloudless night you can see
millions and millions of stars out, a great sight, especially
during a bonfire.
While I rented the house, my parents continued to
make use of the land within their property. They had done
extensive work to create gardens full of herbs, greens,
vegetables and flowers. My mom commissioned a yoga
patch overlooking the lake, my dad built a goat pen for the
15 goats he had begun raising, beastly, mischievous things.
I built a small gun range against a berm, a great way to save
money on range fees using a very simple set-up of wooden
posts and cardboard, a few staples here and there. I tried
my hand at hog hunting but never caught anything. I shot
a coyote one morning standing on my front porch at first
light halfway through my first cup of coffee and still in my
underwear. It was eating a duck at the time.
My parents named the property Trail’s Nook for its
proximity to the Upper Tampa Bay Trail, as they wished to
create a cyclist’s retreat. We’ve come to call it The Nook for
short.
My sister and her fiancé were settling into The Nook as I
was preparing to move downtown to be closer to my office.
They had moved back to Florida after having spent a few
years in Brooklyn. I envy the pace of New York City at times,
walter lamerton | photographer