Monday, October 23, 2006


Go to grab my open house signs from the next block.
Dude you think they just GIVE them to me? They’re like $60 bucks a pop. I treat them like a vintage Corvette. Wash, wax, use packing tape to make repairs. They even have a cush bath towel covering them in the car. Weasels.

Next week I am randomly stalking the area, looking for more more more listings. Fab brick 20 unit on a corner no upkeep – for the taking people. They also sell something out one of the first floor windows. I walk up to the woman leaning out and before I can ask the owner’s name she’s all “Great you’re here.”
I roll. I roll.
A man comes to let me in & brings me to the basement. It’s a Sunday at 11 am. I am wearing a full suit and tie before my open house. Drug psychos think I’m here to repair the washing machine.

And there - in the laundry room - against the wall is my freakin sign. With the patched corner. I charge right past the guy, grab my sign and flee into the shadows.

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