I, LandlordWelcome. Like first amputation, first public flogging, you never forget first apartment. So much excitement. So much mold. And with signing of lease, you now have year long promise to dwell in my property. We will become friends. Great friends. Best friends. You will make me giggle and I look forward to your calls, your high pitched baby voice, your pleas for functional water heater. Oh, I laugh now. It will be so much fun.
So as landlord, let me first introduce you to smell of urine. It seems hound perhaps mistake your carpet for piss location. Perhaps no mistake at all. But such a stench is always present within every inch of apartment, so perhaps, for now, let us focus on one room. Kitchen. Kitchen is foundation that life is built around so I am sad to say that your foundation is cursed Indian ground. Figurative, of course, but accurate as well.
But what is kitchen anyway? Is it important within heart, is there special requirement regarding safety, or is it simply windowless room with malfunctioning machines? The latter, it seems in this case. And while most people would say "no, get me out" or "help, my lungs putrefy with spores" you say "okay." I applaud your willingness to sacrifice such unnecessary luxuries as ventilation or government building code. You are stoic in your suffering and taste.
Of course there is some bright side to kitchen. Most appliances, for instance, stainless steel. A modern touch. Such shine, allowing you an opportunity to gaze into dishwasher and see the bleakness of life. Though dishwasher has no water hookup, it is truly great for gazing and gazing only. When the fluorescent bulbs are not flicking off with every step, the light will shine off silvery refrigerator with such intensity you will believe for an instant that there is window in apartment. Such wonderful, wonderful appliances. If only electricity could handle such wonderful appliances. With current fuse box, only one of appliances can be plugged in at any time. I suggest refrigerator or toaster oven. Never does one know when toast is needed.
Sink is fine, what you see is just buildup. Like a car battery. Harmless to the touch. Drink at your own risk, I suppose.
Behind you is kitchen counter. It was once one color, now many. Once one sheet, now it crumbles to the touch. Though built in modern 1970s, counter science is not perfect, and it would be best to not expose food to it. Rest assured that in some unheard of civilization laminate might be superior to granite and in that land you would have a glorious kitchen. Though that is not here, you are lucky that there is not much counter to worry about. Three Pringle cans and perhaps loaf of bread will cover every inch. It might be hard to cope with such little space, but that pain will soon pass and by end of month you will forget that you even have counters at all. You will be making bologna sandwich on floor and you will be happy to do it.
About the floor. I apologize. Such condition is unfit for ox bed, I know. But you are no ox, nor do you intend to sleep here, simply prepare foods, and for that purpose I still apologize. I also offer one suggestion: do not cover holes in linoleum. They are meant for pestilence to enter through and if not there pestilence find other more painful methods to harvest.
Enough on floors. Now stove. Stove is gas. Stove is antique. Stove is lopsided. Its yellowed patina reminiscent of Nana's teeth if Nana enjoyed meth binge here and there. But that is only cosmetic problem. True problems are from soup spilling when cooking or casserole always lean to left. Think of it like cooking on cruise ship of prisoners. Fun, yes. Also true problem is carbon monoxide. Try not to inhale.
Those cabinets there. Do not use. Trust me.
There is so much magic and surprise just in kitchen, imagine what wonders are crushed into these 800 square feet. So much history, so much police raid, so much raccoon corpse. Someday, tenant, if you are nice and your lawyer makes me, I will tell you everything.
2 PM: Steven J. accidentally drops his vintage Trapper Keeper, revealing erotic drawings of the ‘bunny girls’ emoji. The room draws silent. Slowly, member after member opens his/her notebooks and tablets, revealing dozens of pages of bunny girl emoji fanart. The room votes 12-0 never to speak of this again.
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