Leaving so soon?

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Okay, I get it.  I’m spoiled.  I’ve lived in the same apartment for 14 years.  I have a driveway in which to park. I have a backyard in which to plant flowers, erect patio sets and entertain.  I have free laundry facilities and a hands-off landlord.  I’ve had some of the quietest, most non-intrusive neighbors and I got to considering my place not just a flat, but a practically a small house. 

All of that changed about three years ago, when one of the quiet ones finally decided to give up his bachelor flat and move in with his girlfriend.  We suspected he was using his apartment as an escape hatch, in case it didn’t work out with his girl. He hadn’t been physically living there for the previous 3 or so years, but did pop by to grab mail and rotate the perishables in the cupboard. The apartment right next to mine stayed empty for about a year.

Then Chris and Chris moved in.  Cute little couple blessed and cursed with having the same first name, they seemed sweet and hard-working and maybe it would with enough guts and grease it would be just fine. Turns out when they weren’t working hard, they were drinking harder and would occasionally take the time to beat the crap out of each other.  We called the cops a few times, and once came home to what seemed like the entire Royal Oak police force in my front yard.

Once they were gone we had the pleasure of Boozy McDrinkerton, who couldn’t have stayed sober longer than 24 hours if she had a gun to her head. Royal Oak Police frequently brought her home from the corner bar, where she’d promptly stumble back down the two blocks for more.  Once she locked herself out of her apartment and I couldn’t help but giggle when she knocked, perhaps to see if she’d be home to let herself in. 

After a few months, the landlord’d brother Martin moved in.  Kind old soul who was – and I swear I’m not making this up – a biker Goth. Free Wi-fi and he promised he’d decorate my body in beautiful turquoise if it was the last thing he ever did. He never got the chance as his failing health sent him back to the mountains of Wyoming to die in the arms of his new bride. His Facebook page is still up, and it breaks my heart every time his profile cycles around and I get an invitation to reconnect. I just don‘t have the heart to remove him. Sometimes I post little notes on his wall. Tell anyone and I’ll break your fingers.

 The week Martin died, my new neighbors moved in, and soon I will see them moving out.  They will have lasted five months, the shortest time I have managed, and I’m proud of that.  I was fairly sure the landlord was running a hostel with the amount of people in and out.  It was loud, the water was always running, and the smell of pot was constant companion. My across the hall neighbor of 30 years refused to put up with it and moved out.  Me, I just complained and kept a running list of the things they borrowed.  Once asked for a strainer and I tried to clarify “a strainer or a colander?” There is a difference. He said he was making noodles and he wanted to strain the water. I said, “oh, a colander.  See there, you’ve learned a new word.”

A few weeks ago, I heard the plaintive cries of a puppy on the other side of the thin walls and I wasn’t having it.  It  isn’t that I don’t like dogs, I just don’t like them living next door to me with a bunch of drug-dealing potheads. I fired off a text to the landlord and said I wasn’t putting up with a dog.  My exact phrasing was “pit bull” because I’d been misinformed, but the fact remained.  No dog.  Despite complaining that it wasn’t a pit bull, the dog found a new home. 

 It wasn’t until the carpenter remodeling the across the hall apartment made a comment to the landlord about the amount of traffic in and out that he decided to finally put them out.  Well – there were other circumstances, but I can’t talk about those just yet. 

 Sunday, I had to leave this on her door:

reasonable fascimile as the original was gone by morning
reasonable fascimile as the original was gone by morning

 Oh yes, sex on the washing machine, with the door cracked open for ventilation I suppose.  20 minutes of the most boring sex I’ve ever heard. I sent a text of the same to the landlord, and supposedly they’ll be moved out by the end of the month.

Soon, I’ll be living in a three-unit apartment building with me as the only tenant. I rather like this arrangement, as it’s like a house I don’t pay taxes on.  It’s quiet, when stuff breaks, it’s someone else’s responsibility, and at any time, I can walk away – I haven’t had a lease in 13 years.

If you dare, you can move in next to me, but I warn you: I already don’t like you.

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Just this fox. I'm a writer of horror and dark fantasy. I totally don't brag about it. The latter statement is an utter lie.
  • Peggy
    January 19, 2010 - 7:24 pm

    Hey, as long as the dog got a new home and is all right, who gives a shit about the pot smoking dunderhead assholes?

    • little black duck
      January 19, 2010 - 7:30 pm

      As far as I know the dog has a new home. Were it not for the piles of unwashed clothes in the laundry room, the deadfall of barely cut down tree in the backyard the boyfriend (bed buddy, whatever) he promised he’d clean up, and the fact that they’re all pretty skeezy, I could let them stay. But alas… it was not meant to be.

  • S.D. Hintz
    January 19, 2010 - 8:04 pm

    And my question for you: Did Mister and Mrs. Spin Cycle was their undergarments afterwards? Sounds like there was some dry humping invovled… LOL

    • little black duck
      January 19, 2010 - 8:52 pm

      You know – I never heard the water run after that.

      Ew …

  • Renee Anne
    January 19, 2010 - 11:38 pm

    If I didn’t own two houses, I’d move in next door to you. We could knit. And you could teach me to write coherently.

    • little black duck
      January 20, 2010 - 3:23 pm

      I think you write very well and I wouldn’t have to go far for a knitting buddy – because the coffee huse up the street is too much of a durn effort.

  • Davecat
    January 20, 2010 - 1:59 pm

    If I could handle the crazy rent pricing and lack of airconditioning, I’d move in next to you.

    Don’t know if you remember when I lived at No.23 Deafening silence, I had that one neighbour next door, who was perplexed by the procedure of closing and locking his door? Everytime he entered or left, he had to re-close it several times, by slamming it. My pal Tomas and I used to cll him ‘Slammy Davis Jr’.
    And then there was the twat who used to live directly below me, who would play his classic rock at an elevated volume whilst I was just waking up for the day. Granted, I used to work nights, and he probably thought I was out working a 9-to-5 like everyone else, but TURN THAT SHIT OFF, YOU MOUTH-BREATHING FUCKMALLET. Sorry, just had to get that off my chest.

    The worst part of living in an apartment? Living with other people.

    • little black duck
      January 20, 2010 - 3:19 pm

      The landlord installed AC units in the other two apartments. The two-bedroom has one in the living room and one in the bedroom, while the one-bedroom has one in the living area. He bought one for us too, but we declined it as it would take up valuable window real estate. The heat doesn’t bother me.

But how do you really feel?

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