Ritchie the Panicked Renter

Dump TruckThe fact that the moldings were white, the trim was black and the walls were a dingy eggshell was making Ritchie’s stomach turn over.  He could not believe that a landlord could stomach a property he owned looking this way, never mind rent it for $2K/month.  He must have used gels or something when he shot the photos for the realtor website, because Ritchie wouldn’t have touched this property with a ten foot pole if he was aware of the bastardized color scheme.  Tasha was going to absolutely flip her shit when she came over and saw this for the first time on Tuesday.  She had been dropping stronger hints than usual lately that she suspected he was white trash, and Ritchie feared that this three-tone apartment debacle would be the last straw.  The only reason he had to take it sight unseen was due to the dump trucks that idled outside his old place in the morning and woke Tasha up.  He found the purring of the motors soothing, but she thought it sounded like the gurgles of drowning babies and it depressed her.  She gave him an ultimatum on February 3 and here he was 5 days later with a broken lease, linoleum floors and an uncovered car port.  He went into the bathroom and pored over his forehead, checking the status of his unibrow.  Tasha would never been seen with him if she knew how naturally hairy the inappropriate areas of his upper forehead were.  It was truly appalling.  Almost as hard to stomach as the walls in this apartment.

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