Peace out, landlord.

Not one to leave a brother high and dry, I let our landlord know the second we started looking at apartments. I didn’t expect tears, of course, but he really took the news well, barely missing a beat before asking how soon he could get in there and start “fixing up the place”. Maybe it had something to do with the four months of rent I’d missed after I got my new job, or maybe it was because he’d been paying our electricity since our power got shut off four days before Christmas last year. Either way, he couldn’t have been clearer about his intentions if he kicked us out the door with a pair of steel-toed boots.

“We’ll be moving July 1, most likely”, I told him, a little hurt.

“ok, I’ll probably head up there around then.”

As our plans came together, we decided that we’d like to keep our apartment until the 15th, as stated on our lease, just so that we could have more time to move if we needed to make multiple trips. Of course, me being me, I never really called the landlord to tell him that. I mean, I *meant* to, but I’ve been too busy watching the foot traffic into the porn shop next door. Last night, my work was done for me. I got a message from the landlord saying that he’d be coming up tomorrow.

TOMORROW.

Tomorrow, which, as of last night, was not the 1st or even the 30th, but the 29th. I let him know, again, that we were moving on JULY FIRST, and that yes, we would need the apartment through Saturday. I mean, seriously, what did he think, that we were planning on schlepping all our shit over on some random Tuesday evening?

Our new landlord, on the other hand, called me to ask if I’d like the doors hung in the new place, and would I mind if he tore the crappy molding off the entrance to the living room and repainted it like new?

Things are looking up, my friends.

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