The lady downstairs is puffing away like a chimney
and this is how I feel about it
She doesn't understand - it doesn't phase her - that my apartment, as a result, smells like her ashtray. Somehow, it seeps up through the cabinet under the kitchen sink. And for some reason, tonight is worse. Last night I couldn't smell her or hear her at all (and I began to worry even as I relished the reprieve). We've got the television volume thing figured out but I need to go and ask her what the hell she's doing different tonight...if anything. Maybe she went and bought more smokes at the Cash King across the street, and last night, she had none.
joy.
Hey. I used to smoke but commerical cigs are WAY stinkier than the stuff you buy in smoke shops, the good stuff sans all the chemicals. Tonight I'm developing a headache. I've got to go say hello to dear Eva. Don't go anywhere.
Ye gods! it smells like a funk-ridden bar in here! she wanted me to come in and look at the ventless fan above her oven when I went down and talked with her. oh my god. see me turning green. break out the nag champa. if you don't hear from me in two days, send in the troops.
1 comment:
who the fark are you?
Oh, I finally got spam! Have I been properly initiated, then? Time for me to break out the big guns, and make you all type in the foomey-goomeyed letters as a safeguard when you leave yer comments.
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