Sunday, May 24, 2009

Can't get wasted on the terrace no more....

So today, as I was enjoying a homemade glass of iced coffee with vanilla whey protein (thanks Cat) on the terrace with one of my roommates, I saw a student walk past my apartment enjoying a cool bottle of Aranciata and the warm, late-spring weather. As she walked passed (and before I could hide my face), she saw me. The adorable five-year-old smiled, and with a wave yelled "Hi mister BLANK," to which I responded with a pleasant "Good morning, N*****a." However, as she turned the corner, I whispered a quiet "Crap!" to myself, because once again I was reminded of how, damn it - THEY KNOW WHERE I LIVE.

Living in the same neighborhood where I also work has its perks: a five-block commute, I can relieve myself in my own bathroom during lunch, all the parents are your neighbors and know who you are...it can be a pretty sweet deal. And don't get be wrong; a random "Hi mister BLANK" at the supermarket has, on several occasions, made my day - but seriously. A man's home (or hostel-like apartment) is his castle. I mean, a rather lame castle admittedly, but it's mine. A sacred place full of heffeweissen beer and Hulu clips and "Rock Band" drum kits. But no more.

No more drinking in the afternoon, no more picking up the mail topless, no more Norwegian Black Metal at 2 o'clock in the A.M....

But hey - at least she called me "Mister."

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