2/5 Stars. Shit apartment. Shit maintenance. Stay away, seriously.
This place sucks.
I think it’s something in the water. Makes you heavy and kind of sick, I use a water purifier, it still tastes bad, but it’s hard to pick apart from the air and the dust and what feels like mold between the splitting cracks in the corner of the closet. The ceiling bubbles into pools, bending out, it’s strangely gross like wounds with puss that have no choice but to leak because the water does not stop coming. It comes through the top floor like a faucet; they sweep the water out the door with a broom.
It leaks in through the windows and when you wring out the rags it’s muddy and cloudy: the sky from above, now in your bucket. It won’t happen again, they said they cleaned out the gutters.
It’s hard to take a shower, stand out of the way to the side to where you can feel the mildew and the grime, but the water is too hot and the faucet doesn’t change. Shut off the hot water, there are three knobs and that seems a little excessive for a goddamn shower, but it still comes through, until–very suddenly–it is too cold. It’s a perfect excuse. But it doesn’t make it any easier to get the dirt off, smoke coat on your skin. They smoke next door and it comes through the vent and gets into your clothes.
There is a lamp in the bathroom because the light went out a long time ago.
I call it home;
sometimes I’m afraid to leave.
Collecting things in boxes, and it’s exciting and nice because you’re tired of the dust, there is so much on the walls. Wipe things down once but run your hand over you can still feel something there, wipe things down twice and eventually you give up.
It came unfurnished; we strip home down and pack it up, ship it out. Clean it for a deposit–put it back to its initial condition, remove all evidence, all trace that you were once here and you once called it home even though it smelled like rotten eggs because it’s easier to say let’s go home than let’s go back to the apartment. The first unit I was misplaced in had been rebuilt; a car drove into it.
They say home is where the heart is. All that smoke, spilled liquor, a shot of fireball after a party I was there for five minutes so I took a cup to-go, a momentary lapse of judgment leaving shaken cider on the wall like there was a reason to celebrate when there was no fucking reason to celebrate and now someone will try to clean the residue and maybe they could smell it–I can’t–I hope they can’t so they don’t misinterpret the situation say it was a happy thing; it was an angry thing.
We all say we agree to pretend I never touched this place, because they do not want to say this unit comes furnished with slivers of human smeared splattered pinned scratched on the walls a grime you will never clean off the counters, tiny bits of powder in the space between the stove and counter. And the fridge, it was new, there was no one else in there but now there has been.
You can take fruit out of the fridge when you smell it’s gone bad, but you can still smell it, yes you have the ghost of a hundred grapes that died of neglect haunting your food now. There were worms in there too, once.
How ugly the mismatched red paint looks on the accent wall. They pretended it would dry and that we wouldn’t notice soon, one of the few things I liked was the red wall, and fake wood floor.
When it rains it gets humid and that curls hung papers. It soaked in, so it probably is in the walls too–it flooded, dripping through the ceiling once, after all. I hid here. My bed is against the wall and that is comforting because there’s one side I don’t have to watch and I can feel small and nothing just an observer. People say sometimes I want to crawl under a rock, but that would be impractical because it’s not often you find rocks large enough to crawl under that you can crawl under unless you also have a shovel and that is usually not the case; I want to crawl into the wall, it flooded, dripping through the ceiling once, after all. Whenever it’s time to move it’s hard to shake the feeling that what if I left something behind.
How many people shut the door and hid in this bedroom too, acting like they were alone?
When they ask why I’m not renewing my lease I should just recite this to management. This is the most melodramatic review of an apartment complex that I never imagined I would be writing.