
I could handle that the house was filthy, that the sinks leaked, that the bathroom paint was peeling worse than that abandoned prison, that the fridge was full of black mould, and that they had smoked and spilled wine on the wall in my bedroom, but the half-eaten meat they closed up in the stove long enough ago that it smelled like feet - that was too much. Guess how much they lost in damage deposit? Nothing.
1 comment:
now I see why the escalator is the place you want to go home to.
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