Thursday, November 20, 2003

In a delightful gesture completely out of character for B&A Properties, someone in the leasing office decided that lung cancer would be a fine addition to fused windows, piss-poor electrical systems, and unquenchable radiators. I stepped out of a shit-smelly sidewalk and into an apartment building filled with the scent of lacquer and paint thinner tonight, and boy was I chipper.

It’s like they laced the stuff with happy powder, I was so overjoyed. I skipped up four flights of stairs, singing all the way, and with a merry jangle I fished out my keys. A couple of ho-ho-frickin’-ho’s later, I stepped into my studio.

“Splotch, I’m home!” I whistled, taking in deep draughts of pure, sweet lacquer.

Splotch, unfortunately, had turned into an absolute rabbitch, repeatedly hurling himself from one end of his cage to the other. It must’ve been the fumes. The walk-in closet contained the last pocket of breathable air, so into the closet he went. As for me, I deluded myself into thinking I could un-fuse some of my windows, so into my lungs went the fumes.

Hey, gentle reader, sleepover at my place! Should I move? I should move.