Even more than the gunshots outside that wake me up at night, or that old junkie who always tries to lure me into an alleyway for a quick fuck (like he could even get it up), my landlady, she sets me on edge!
She lives right below my apartment. Always I hear her pacing, pacing, pacing -- except when my phone rings, or someone presses my doorbell, then she stops. I know she's listening!
Whenever I leave my apartment, she's there, blocking the foot of the stairs. That's when she assails me with gems like this one: "Hal, that's my ex-husband [as if I didn't already know a million times over!], he's at least proved himself good for one thing. When I get constipated, like from eating too much meat, for instance, I take a stack of his old love letters with me to the bathroom. I sit myself down on the toilet, I start reading one, and what do you know, I'm soon shitting smoother than if I'd had a whole bottle of prune juice!"
Unfortunately, I happen to be an atheist, so I have to take matters into my own hands. When I've saved up enough for first, last, and deposit on a new place, then I'm gone! For now, though, it's the fire escape or creeping downstairs barefoot until I'm out the front door. This's worked so far, but I know, from her constant pacing late into the night, she's just waiting to catch me one more time!
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