That's what it looks like from above ground. The picture is taken from my bus stop across the street, which I take to work. That's the last and brightest thing I see before going down below for the night.
I work for an accounting firm, actually. No, I know. No I know it's a good job. Just a lucky guy, but thank you!
It'll be three years this winter.
Well, it's really cold and smells like friend chicken all the time, what's winter like where you're from? Pretty fucking similar?
I'm sorry, go on.
The rent was pretty cheap, and I had a really good feeling about the landlord. And he really has been a great guy. He's kept the apartment in pretty good shape.
I was a little worried about the Popeye's Chicken upstairs, but I figured, everyone's got that one bad neighbor.
Thighs and boneless wings. Drumsticks are for classless goons who can't appreciate a knife, fork, and a dipping sauce.
My friends give me some grief about it, but I can take it, I have a good sense of humor about it. I joke about catching chicken pox, though in reality it is probably lupus.
Sure, it's difficult to bring a date back there. The last girl I tried to bring home was disgusted by the idea of going to some guy's apartment beneath a fried chicken restaurant. I went to bed alone and she went into Popeye's for a late night snack.
Well, no I don't usually eat there. Is that the story you're looking for? That I'm going to be sickened by the fact that I live underneath a Popeye's to the point of not even thinking it's food? Your big scoop is that a local accountant thinks a Popeye's is a big browntank? KFC can't call itself Kentucky Friend Chicken because it's not technically chicken anymore. Popeye's can't even call itself "C". It's such shit that the closest thing to chicken it can legally name itself after is an inarticulate vegetarian with deformed forearms and boobs for legs.
You're right, I am happy that I live below a Popeye's and not above it. Really, I can't imagine how horrible my life would be if I had to live above a Popeye's chicken. Imagine how living above a Popeye's would just end up permeating every level of my miserable life.
I'm sorry, again, but I'm still stuck on how stupid that question was. Do you know I would kill to have a window to open, even out into a hot breath of hot breaded mutant? My home sweet home doormat is a puddle of muddy grease. The whole building leaks grease out of every crack. Wasn't there something in Revelations about a bunch of oozing wounds that would never heal? Maybe that was just something I saw on 20/20.
I do sleep well, but that's only because a dark acrid smoke fills my apartment every night at about 11:30 when they flush out the overhead vents. It's a lot like taking a chimneysweep to bed.
You know, it's funny you should mention that, because I actually found an egg in the corner of my apartment about a week ago. Come on over, I'll show you. Yep, here it is. Well, I bought an incubator, because I've been reading a lot of slow cooking cookbooks lately, and I've always been a fan of hard-boiled eggs, so I figured I'd try to combine the two. Sure seems like it's been getting bigger, though. Hell no, I'm not cooking for myself. When it's done I'm gonna dump it in the ocean and see if this stuff will kill Cthulu. Naw, I'm not worried, these things are mutants. DNA strings' full of typos! Why, there's more grave than gravy to th---
EPILOGUE:
"Ah, well, life, ah, finds a way."
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