My landlord just finished mowing our little lawn with a weed-wacker. It took half an hour (I guess it’s not that little). Then, he moved the still full garbage can back behind the house because he can’t remember that garbage day is tomorrow. Patience, I said to myself, he must be here to fix the security light. He must. But, no. No security light for us. Maybe he figures if the bike thieves have already hit this location it’s like a vaccine. No more ill will can befall us. I don’t think he gives us that much thought though.

Giving this man my money becomes harder every month.

I’m not quite ready to buy a house – financially or emotionally. Soon I hope. I’m itching to settle into a place of my own. Plant a garden. Let the dog run on more two feet of grass. Paint the walls. The upkeep will be hard, I know, but from where I’m sitting the grass is a hell of a lot greener in home-owner’s world.

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