They’re refinishing the inside of the church next door, and on the other side maintenance is prepping a vacant apartment for rent. Our apartment, in the mean time, smells like shoe polish and asshole.
The only way this place could be worse—between the noise, the smells, and the booty club with its illegal, Sunday-night-long street parties—would be if it were on fire. And even then, they’d find a way to rent it. Fucking Richmond, you kill me.