here. now there.

I'm not dead. I'm moving. Next door to Allen Ginsberg's old apartment. He was apartment n, I'm apartment n+1. Current dickhead landlord who didn't bother to sweep, paint or remove the hair-covered clot of feces from the bathroom floor is being a cock and insisting that I take my 1970s color scheme walls back to white.

"But Erin, don't landlords usually paint when someone new moves in, especially if it's been a year or two since the last time they did it?"

Virginia, you always were a dumb bitch. Listen. The landlord wants ME to do it. So he doesn't have to. I went into ACE Hardware Sunday. "Gimme the cheapest primer you got." I'm doing thick, sloppy coats and splashing it all over bathroom fixtures, kitchen tile, windows, the hardwood floor. No top coat. Just primer.

I enjoy painting though. For some reason I always do it topless. OL' PAINTY TITS. I wear pants and stuff but always take off my shirt, even when it's not hot. I would make a good construction worker stereotype. I like swearing, beer, classic rock, that shirt thing I just mentioned earlier, looking at girl's asses, the whole nine.