He’s a lucky bastard, but the constant moans emanating from his room day and night are enough to drive a man crazy. His bedroom door slams shut as a shrill peal of laughter squeals in delight. Vance’s girlfriend’s giggling ratchets up a notch as thudding footsteps beat quickly through the living area and down the hall. Patching the holes and repainting would be a nightmare with crews traipsing in and out for goodness knows how long. It was bad enough following the inspector around while he punched holes throughout the condo for a “peek under the hood,” he said. A few innocent black and green blotches on the bathroom ceiling seemed innocuous enough. Instead, it’s turned into a freaking nightmare. Notice of an annual building inspection should’ve been a fifteen-minute nuisance. My clothing scrapes my skin, causing me to scratch and squirm under the moldy filth that clings to the fabric. A prickly, sickening sensation crawls down my spine and buries itself in the pit of my stomach. I pull clothing from hangers and drawers and stuff as much as possible into the black contractor bag I’ve been allotted. Does he think pacing outside the door will quicken my pace? I’m grossed out as it is. “I heard you the first time,” I mutter in frustration. “Fifteen minutes.” The building inspector raps on my front door for the second time in thirty minutes.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |