Hard Times

With all of your worldly possessions in your pack you feel something like a snail carrying your home on your back. The paper ad was all but begging for a roommate to share the rent, though why you had no idea. The asking price was phenomenally low, even for a split rent place. It was supposedly a studio apartment with a single occupant. No number was left, just an address.

You really do not care what the place looks like. You could easily afford the rent for a few months until you land a job. That is all that matters at this point. Survival.

You walk down the hall on the seventh story. No elevator. At least it will be good exercise. You are looking for number 718. You pass 716 and turn around a corner. For whatever reason, 718 is the only room on this stretch of hall that dead ends with the door.

Lack of traffic must keep this part of the hall cleaner. At least there will be few neighbors. There is a doormat in front with a large pair of eyes and the words “Nice Panties.”

You sigh inwardly and knock on the door. Your wait lengthens and you hope there is someone home. You knock again and this time you are rewarded with a scrambling sound.

A breathless feminine voice asks, “Yes? Who is it?”

Hmm you think inwardly, “My name’s John Byron, I am here about the ad.”

“Oh! Uhh… just a sec!” the breathless voice responds and you hear a retreat scrambling. This could be interesting. Even if it is a rat hole place.

A few seconds later you here the sounds of locks being drawn and the door opens.