Week 21, 2026: King of Spain
There were fireworks on the same night a guy moved into the room across from me. It was the long weekend and people were so happy about it they were lighting up fireworks. We didn’t talk the night he moved into the lodge, or the next night. We didn’t talk until I set the fire alarm on after my shower. I ignored it because this was not the first time and I had come to accept that this was now a part of my post-shower routine. He didn’t know about the post-shower routine though, the guy who moved into the room across from me, so he left his room and started yelling is this real, is this real, is this real down the stairs, to nobody.
I opened my bedroom door, clad in a white towel and slightly agitated at the commotion. This is just what happens when you shower, I said. Don't worry about it. Since then, he’s had a shower. So has the guy that moved in downstairs at the end of the week. The fire alarm did not, in fact, go off when they showered. It continues, however, to go off whenever I shower. This is my penance for running my mouth.
There's three of us now in this temporary lodging. I'm the only one who has toiletries in the shared bathroom. The guy who just moved in has a single item in his fridge shelf, a massive wine bottle. The one who freaked out about the fire alarm has long hair and seems to really like fruit. My shelf is rife with dairy and dips.
Much is abrew, so my week was spent quietly awaiting updates. Walked around Little Italy and Liberty Village. Finished a book and started another. Ate cucumbers and eggs and dipped both in hummus. Had plenty a video call with my mother and JK. Bought a rotisserie chicken on the day it rained so much I felt a puddle in my sneakers. It took me two days and three meals to get through the chicken. The Canadian summer rain broke my English umbrella. Oh dear.
I only ate at home, except for the burrito I had from Fat Bastard and the pizza slice I got from Pizza Pizza after Sebastian told me he often ate there on trips here. He also told me about Moxy Früvous’s song King of Spain, which features the great line: I'm telling you I was the King of Spain and now I work at the Pizza Pizza. They remind me of Chas and Dave. He was here this week, I think. The real king of Spain.
I met up with my prospective flatmate on the weekend to sign a piece of paper he wrote up and then we hung out on the Wayfair sofa he’d bought and built since I - first met and - last saw him. He asked about what I was reading and I tried to talk about Philip Roth and Norm Macdonald. I asked if he drank and he said that he didn’t like to do it often or alone, so a bottle could last him years. I said that I loved doing it often and alone and so I don’t do it at all now. It’s funny how that works.