The Walls Are Alive

I loved my old neighbourhood.
I loved its shabby charm and colourful characters who always had nice things to say about my short skirts.

I loved living near the water, and I loved living down the street from the park with the albino squirrel, but eventually a girl has to move along. It may have had something to do with the stabby neighbours across the way, or the nervous mornings waiting for an early bus surrounded by shadowy figures, but it was perhaps most heavily influenced by the one too may nights opening the door to the warm scent of garbage, the couch that made me itch, the toilet that protested when used by making loud angry noises, and my personal favourite, the surprise of  coming home to find that all the pots had run away only to sporadically reappear dishevelled and dirty in the sink when their tyrant captor was too lazy to wash and hide them again.

ANYWAY
Mom and dad came and helped me move.
I`m a lucky girl.

 My old room was a bit bland ....

... and while my new place doesn't have the internet just yet, it certainly can't be accused of being bland.