I came home last night and saw that somebody had gone to work on the door to my apartment building. Broke through the first pane of glass, tried to pry open the lock. Hasn’t this person heard about gentrification? You should be doodling in a coffee shop, jerk face!
And where were the old drunk guys that play dominoes outside almost 24 hours a day when all this happened? Their surveillance skills may be slipping seeing as how I’ve walked past them at least 900 times and the other day I came home and one of them said, “Welcome to the neighborhood!”
If you ask me, I think the landlord tried to steal the building for the insurance money, but then realized it wouldn’t fit in his van. At the very least, I put the over/under on him fixing the door at 4.5 months. Place your bets!
To be honest, though, I’m not even sure where I live. When I first moved in the broker said it was Williamsburg. Then someone asked me where I lived, I said Williamsburg, they asked me my cross streets, I told them and they said, “Nice try, that’s Bushwick.” So then I started saying Bushwick but someone pulled the same routine and said, “Sorry, that’s Williamsburg.” So now whenever someone asks me where I live I just throw a bunch of Neutral Milk Hotel CDs into the air and run out of the room. The perfect diversion!
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