Though I still pay the mortgage every month, the apartment in New York no longer feels like it belongs to me. Maybe that’s because my bookshelves are almost empty now. My clothes are nearly gone. In the three ensuing years since I left New York, each time I returned I would ship another box or two of my belongings to Vancouver.

The bulk of my stuff was there now, not here.

The people who occupy the apartment have brought in their own belongings, too. The dresser drawers are filled with their strange clothes. A brand of breakfast cereal I don’t recognize is in the cupboard. There’s a recent issue of Time Out on the coffee table. There are leftovers in the refrigerator. The occupants have also amassed an impressive collection of delivery menus. I find their laundry in the laundry basket in the closet. Their strange shampoos are in the shower.

When I realize that I’ve forgotten toothpaste, I help myself to a bit of theirs, then feel a little guilty about it.

I have to keep reminding myself that all of this is perfectly OK, that this isn’t technically my place anymore, that of course their belongings and toothpaste would be here, and should be here. I’m the caretaker of the apartment–that’s all. My role is to change the batteries in the smoke detectors, make sure the radiators aren’t leaking, etc., things like that.

Still, I lived five years of my life here. And they were pretty good years, too. Getting a little emotional seems inevitable. When it’s time for bed, I notice that the occupants have stripped the mattress in anticipation of my arrival. That was nice of them. I find a set of clean sheets in the closet. I get into bed. On the dust covered nightstand, I notice the faint imprint of a strange hand. I can clearly make out five fingers and part of a palm in the dust.

I shut off the light. The bedroom radiator comes to life, ticking quietly in the corner. A garbage truck lumbers down 77th street making the dishes in the kitchen cupboards chatter. I pull the sheets up to my chin and try to sleep.

Stage 5-10. Ah, our first minimalist level. We’ve got nothing but open space here, people, and a handful of do-it-yourself ladder, bridge, and spring power-ups. The key is at the bottom of the level and the exit door is at the top. On the righthand side of the screen is a long ladder. But of course, one of the game’s strange rules is that Mario cannot carry the key and climb a ladder at the same time. The ladder in this stage is merely here to taunt and tease you: “If only you could carry the key up the ladder, this thing would be over by now. What do you mean you ‘can’t’? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! [Calls out to other nearby ladders.] Look at this one, boys! This guy says that he can’t climb a ladder and carry a key at the same time! Can you believe that? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!”

Ladders are always such jerks.

I fooled around with the various portable power-ups for about half an hour before cooking up a viable way out. I lost three Marios in total while sorting this level–one to a long fall (one of those crude halos appeared above his broken corpse), and two more simply because I ran out of time. Also: the umbrella, hat, and handbag are yours to gather, if you’re feeling extra bold today.

The first thing you need to know is that you do not need to use every power-up available to you. The second thing you need to know is that the clock that starts ticking whenever you trigger a portable power-up resets automatically each time you trigger a subsequent power-up. That means you can’t dilly dally here. Once you start building your tower of power-ups to the top, you must keep building until it’s finished. Otherwise, it will vanish beneath your feet and you will fall from a great height. And yes, I used the term “dilly dally.” What of it?

First, trigger the bridge power-up (it’s the one with the arrows pointing sideways). Place it five ticks above the ground, just above the ladder power-up. Step two: trigger the portable spring power-up. Place it one tick above the ground. Step three: grab the key, jump onto the spring, and leap up to the portable bridge. We’re on the move.

Step four: while standing on the temporary bridge that you have created, trigger the next portable bridge power-up and place it five ticks higher (just above the portable ladder power-up). Once that’s done, you need to trigger that portable ladder power-up–this is step five, by the way–and connect the lower temporary bridge with the upper temporary bridge. Step six: leap into the air and toss the key straight up. The key should land safely on the upper temporary bridge. Step seven: climb up your just-created temporary ladder and quickly reclaim the key before it blinks itself back to its starting position at the bottom.

We’re in the homestretch now, folks. This level’s back is now broken. The rest? It’s gravy. Bask in the glory, etc. The eighth and final step requires you to trigger the nearby portable spring. Place it no higher than one tick above the uppermost temporary bridge. Then, with the “Temporary Power-Up” song about to run its course (another song which makes my jaw lock), use the spring to launch yourself up to the exit door.

You’ve built quite an impressive structure here. Before exiting the level, take a moment to admire the work you’re about to leave behind. Like a castle in the sand being washed away by the evening tide, the song ends and all of your hard work is gone. Stage 5-10 is behind us now.