According to my blog, I live in the Our Lady of Vilnius basement even though it no longer exists. Truth is, I have been spending a lot of time away visiting churches that are not long for this world.
When I returned from a protracted stay at St. Mary's in Yonkers, I encountered Letise hunched at a table surrounded by periodicals, crumpled pages from a legal pad and several paper cups of diner coffee, some of which had soaked through and were seeping. She was wearing MY flannel pajamas and smelled a little too much like a human being.
I tend to be extremely territorial so, of course, I challenged her presence. She produced a letter bearing my signature authorizing her use of the space for her professional activities as a "creative." It was an obvious forgery, but I honored it because I admired her nerve and her stamina (so many discarded first lines, so much coffee).
Maybe I shouldn't have made this basement, heavily populated with souls that have left this world, sound so appealing. I'll let her stay as long as she doesn't perturb Lonesome George and Avery Dulles. John Monaco slipped in here last January. They will probably squabble when he tries to bus her table.
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