Apartment life is an experience. You get to watch your neighbour’s lives, smell their weird roasts, listen to their elephant children clomp around at night, and know they commiserate when they hear the wails of your very tired and persistent 3 year old being dragged down the hallway, the sounds eventually swallowed by the hurried entrance into your unit then the gentle click of a door closing.
It’s cool. We’re all here under one roof, breathing, living, and co-existing.
Our building, because of its family vibe, where it’s situated and the desirable rent, has some rules. We signed contracts to not do or deal drugs, to not prostitute ourselves, to not be engaged in gang activity and absolutely, positively NO PETS.
Especially dog hookers who love meth and murder.
We are all united under these weird rules and, so, it goes.