Real estate

I rented the second cheapest room I could find

160 a week

no air, windows have to be opened from the outside

the lights and fan only work if you jiggle the switch.

The cheapest place had guys sleeping in cars on the property; it was upstairs

the stove was rusted out

and prostitutes worked in the apartment two down.

It looked like fun

but I thought I can afford a little better.

While I was looking at the place

a tree fell over in the yard onto the fence.

The real estate agent and I just looked at each other.

“Happens” is all he said.

On the carpet, there was a brown stain about the size of a large dog

and the toilet bowl had been broken and glued back together.

Water leaked onto the bathroom floor.

At least here, in the place I took,

it’s quiet. No one plays their music too loud.

Sure the hot water is only warm

and the gutters overflow

but life is short.

I looked into the mirror today

I look about ten years older than I should

and I think I’m losing my hair.

But what’s that got to do with this old apartment?

Somewhere not too far away, as I write this at 10.06 pm

a gunshot rings out.

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