Chicken out. Go talk to your landlord

The moment you hang up the phone you lose your nerve. The thought of stripping and dancing naked in front of the greedy lustful eyes of strange men is too much for you, even though the thought of it gives you a thrill of forbidden excitement.

All you'd need would be for someone to recognize you, and you'd never hear the end of it, either in person or on social media. You have no doubt that some of the frat boys you know, hell that you've dated, have been in strip clubs, perhaps that strip club, and you can imagine the mess they could make of your life if they found out. No, you decide, you'll have to find another answer.

What you need more than anything is some time. With a little more time you might be able to raise the money from somewhere, although your mind can't think straight enough right now to say where that might be. If you talk to your landlord in person, you might be able to convince him to give you an extension on the time to pay the arrears.

You've only met your landlord a few times. He lives in the building, in a penthouse unit that stands alone on the fifth floor. There is a resident caretaker who does most of the upkeep of the building and the day to day management, the landlord acting like just another resident most of the time. He's a nondescript middle aged man who seems kind of shy, or at least seemed awkward the times you've encountered him while checking your mailbox. The only reason you know he owns the building is that you once heard the caretaker call him 'boss', and a later conversation you had with the caretaker confirmed your suspicion.

He seems like a nice reasonable man, you think. Surely he'll be willing to listen to you, and bend a little from the forbidding language of the note. After all, you smile to yourself, he's a man, and you are an extremely attractive young woman. Surely if you use your charm you'll be able to persuade him to give you a break.

With that thought in mind you decide to go knock on his door.