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Timid Twenty blossoms into a strong yet lanky passionate
entomologist.
A true socialist leader of the canine, but fearful of the man. She abides only two rules:
i. no pissing or shitting in the house
ii. no eating MY food without my permission
Dark clouds of credit debt loom over our happy pack.
Vacating the one bedroom abode is the only escape. The search for roommates begins.....
I connect with an old lady in OB, who tells me to call Bob.
Bob and I exchange three phone calls all of which he dictates his address, which I dutifully repeat into my phone.
Mr. Google Map tells me it is a sweet location two blocks from the waves. I pace in front of the stressed address.
Bob’s phone rings my phone. He shouts a new address. My stoner sense tingles and I head back to Golden Hill.
I collide with a plump tiny latina on the World Wide Web.
She lives in North Park with a pit bull puppy. She arranges a meeting at Starbucks.
Twenty is cool to the pup. The chica emphatically and systematically touts her laidback attitude.
My stoner sense tingles.
I clash with an unemployed trust-fund hipster in North Park.
He fires a machine gun of uh-huhs when I let words leave my mouth. My stoner sense tingles.
I link up with texan around my age in University Heights.
At each stop on the disorganized house tour, he speaks of future architectural improvements. I spy at least three lazy-boys each accompanied by a reachable beer fridge. For $700 a month, I get a small bedroom and huge second room born from the garage. Sun floods the room through two giant glass windows lacerated in the ceiling. Sun also creeps from the corners of the room. My toes feel cement through the thin carpet. My private bath consists of one toliet, one sink, one mirror, one shower, and one area to stand still.
Tex impedes my departure with a 22oz bottle of Arrogant Bastard.
We sit, sip, and shoot innocuous questions. I stand up to grin out the door.
Tex impedes my departure.
“I don’t know how to say this...but occasionally I like to smoke marijuana at night watching a movie or playing Xbox” he fibs while rubbing his neck.
“Cool. I have been known to smoke now and again.” I smirk.
My stoner sense is gleeful. My eyes know there is more to this picture. My brain is sick of looking for roommates.
Timid Twenty blossoms into a strong yet lanky passionate
entomologist.
A true socialist leader of the canine, but fearful of the man. She abides only two rules:
i. no pissing or shitting in the house
ii. no eating MY food without my permission
Dark clouds of credit debt loom over our happy pack.
Vacating the one bedroom abode is the only escape. The search for roommates begins.....
I connect with an old lady in OB, who tells me to call Bob.
Bob and I exchange three phone calls all of which he dictates his address, which I dutifully repeat into my phone.
Mr. Google Map tells me it is a sweet location two blocks from the waves. I pace in front of the stressed address.
Bob’s phone rings my phone. He shouts a new address. My stoner sense tingles and I head back to Golden Hill.
I collide with a plump tiny latina on the World Wide Web.
She lives in North Park with a pit bull puppy. She arranges a meeting at Starbucks.
Twenty is cool to the pup. The chica emphatically and systematically touts her laidback attitude.
My stoner sense tingles.
I clash with an unemployed trust-fund hipster in North Park.
He fires a machine gun of uh-huhs when I let words leave my mouth. My stoner sense tingles.
I link up with texan around my age in University Heights.
At each stop on the disorganized house tour, he speaks of future architectural improvements. I spy at least three lazy-boys each accompanied by a reachable beer fridge. For $700 a month, I get a small bedroom and huge second room born from the garage. Sun floods the room through two giant glass windows lacerated in the ceiling. Sun also creeps from the corners of the room. My toes feel cement through the thin carpet. My private bath consists of one toliet, one sink, one mirror, one shower, and one area to stand still.
Tex impedes my departure with a 22oz bottle of Arrogant Bastard.
We sit, sip, and shoot innocuous questions. I stand up to grin out the door.
Tex impedes my departure.
“I don’t know how to say this...but occasionally I like to smoke marijuana at night watching a movie or playing Xbox” he fibs while rubbing his neck.
“Cool. I have been known to smoke now and again.” I smirk.
My stoner sense is gleeful. My eyes know there is more to this picture. My brain is sick of looking for roommates.