First, I’d like to say hats off to the realtor who facilitated the lease of this fine abode. They must be of supreme skill in the art of real estate! With this close under their belt, (close? is that the right term?) they could go on to rent Donald Trump a modest cardboard box, and maybe even reconcile Axl Rose and Slash.
But I digress, I would not be able to move forward in this never-ending game of apartment musical chairs without at least sharing a few helpful hints, from one concerned eskimo-lessee to another:
1. There are a lot of spiders. The people who built the house may have offended God in some way.
2. You will never meet the landlord. Ever. I’ve brainstormed some possible explanations: he works out of state, he is undergoing inpatient therapy, he is the Wizard of Oz.
3. You didn’t ask if it…
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