Old and creaky floors

Many years ago my grandparents Eddie and Nellie lived in a grubby ground floor apartment. The building was hammered together in the 1920s using as few nails as possible. The doors sagged, the steps were built crooked and nothing was level. And the floorboards didn't just creak, they groaned and clunked as if they were protesting how poorly they had been installed.

Every Sunday afternoon my parents would drag us there to visit. My father would chat with Eddie about current events while Nellie sat and chain smoked Camels in her overstuffed chair and waited for us to leave. The only respite was the candy and the stories. Eddie was a great storyteller who regaled us with tales of his native Ireland and the adventures he lived in his younger days.

The loudest floor was the back hallway. It was a dim and scary corridor with garish red carpet, surely discarded from a movie theater. Every step made the floor groan and squeak. We were all afraid the floor would drop us into the basement, but it never did.