Two weeks ago was a turning point for me, as it was the end of a living situation nightmare that made the whole month of September an exceedingly miserable time.
As I write, I'm sitting in a pearl white recliner at home in San Antonio, that place that has the sometimes taken-for-granted benefit of a city-wide smoking ban in all businesses, something the Dallas/Ft. Worth area needs to get and enforce. I'm presently sucking down a 44 oz sweet tea and getting caught up on some writing as the fourth heap of clothes dries.
Why all these clothes? Because I had to wash every garment and blanket I own to get the smoke smell out that was put there by gaunt, leather-faced, saggy-forearmed, red-nosed, denture-wearing, baggy-eyed, dirty, unkempt, white-trash pieces of shit who made it a practice to smoke INSIDE their apartments instead of stepping outside, like a normal person getting their tobacco fix.
I never found out who they are, but I couldn't have done anything about it if I had. The place where I lived allowed smoking in the building, and that made my already bleak existence an even more enraged and bitter one...until two weeks ago when I got my ass out of Dodge!
I can't reproduce it here as it is an Associated Content Exclusive. Read the full story HERE.
P.S. If you smoke in your apartment, I'm telling you to go fuck yourself for being inconsiderate of every non-smoker in your building who is exposed to the offensive 4,000+ chemicals that make smoking bans a needful thing to enforce.
Fuck you for every couch you've ever ruined and every wall that had to be repainted on account of your nasty, stinking, nicotine-craving ass! Take your shit outside! Get it away from us!