back when he first showed the apartment we asked hopefully can we paint the walls? and when he denied us we asked may we go on the roof?  absolutely not he said again, but the rent was, is, mad cheap and we've made do.

laundry was also free, it still is, but the washing machine is filled with leaves right now, the whole basement is filled with leaves.  not like green leaves but like last october's leaves, smelling stronger than you remember them.

before the leaves our landlord had been fixing the leak that drains directly into john's closet with, I don't know, some tar and and a ladder?   well he accidentally left the ladder in our stairwell, and I encountered it at seven AM after checking up on the leaves one more time.   I'll call the city in the morning—he had said the day before—so if you do laundry now the basement might flood you know, the storm sewer you know.

so now the ladder.
you know.
courtney agreed and we lugged it out on the back porch.

the other two room mates were still sleeping so our shingle-stamping probably hijacked their dreams into a nightmare about giants and thunder.  up there the air tastes still, trees look squat, and traffic seems childish.  all is hushed.  beholding the city makes one feel at once mighty and ineffectual.  wearing clean clothes might change that, we'll have to see.

here's what to do in the meantime, like say you have a pair of pants to wash.  bring them, along with liquid detergent, when you shower.  easy peasy and quicker than using the sink.