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http://www.the2ndhand.com/web69/whereilive.html
Where I live, there are three creaky levels of strangely orchestrated floor plans, 100-year-old crust, and floors made entirely of splinters. Upstairs, there are four rooms ranging in size from weirdly big to painfully small and one half-bath so tiny it requires you shit standing up. On a whim, when I first moved in I paid my landlord's crew of Polish workmen several hundred dollars of student loan money to move and plumb a cast-iron claw-foot tub that I feared languishing in a remote area of the basement into one of the side rooms, and so to your right, at the top of the stairs, you will find the ever-ubiquitous full-size bedroom with nothing but a claw foot tub in it. The other small side room I made into a dressing room, which is a romantic idea if by dressing room you do not mean a room completely engulfed from corner to corner with piles of clothes in sedimentary layers of increasing size and cleanliness. Of the two larger rooms, one is for sleeping, and in an unprecedented show of practicality sports a bed. The remaining room exists only to house an ever-circulating population of giant tumbleweeds made of hair and lint. There is an ancient gas space heater in the corner of the giant-tumbleweeds-of-hair-and-lint room that costs $150 a month even if you never turn it on, so I had the gas company turn off the heat in the upstairs altogether, and instead leave an electric space heater plugged in and turned on 24 hours a day in the fall and winter. There is a smoke detector with a dead battery and a carbon monoxide detector still in its package on the floor near the space heater. They have been there for close to three years |
