From Curb to Comfort: A Journey to Find a Home

Finding a Place to Call Home

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. But what do you do when life leaves you without a bed? I found myself in this predicament when I moved into a new place in East Walpole. With no bed in sight, I turned to my friend Kenny for help.

A Surprising Solution

Kenny told me his sister and her husband were getting rid of their old bed, and it was currently sitting on the curb, awaiting the garbage truck. I wasn’t thrilled about the idea of sleeping on a used bed, but desperation can lead to creative solutions. I justified it by thinking about all the hotel mattresses I’d slept on in the past – it couldn’t be that bad, right?

A Race Against Time

With the clock ticking, I rushed to Sharon to pick up the queen-size box spring and mattress before they disappeared forever. As I arrived, the garbage truck was just two houses away, and I knew I had to act fast. I loaded up the GOAT (my trusty vehicle) and made my way back to East Walpole, with Kenny’s help, to carry the heavy load upstairs.

Meeting the Landlord

As we arrived at the house, I met Dick, the owner, for the first time. A former auto mechanic and drag-racing enthusiast, Dick had a rugged charm to him. He stood tall, with a lanky build and a mischievous glint in his eye. Despite his rough exterior, he had a wise-guy smile that put me at ease.

The House on East Walpole

Dick’s house was a peculiar place, divided into five rentable spaces. The first floor was a cozy apartment, while the second floor had three rooms, each with its own locking door and a shared bathroom. The rooms were rented out weekly for twenty-five dollars cash, and Dick collected his rent every Monday morning, often with a six-pack in hand.

My New Neighbors

As I settled into my 12′ x 12′ room, I met my neighbors – a big, boisterous trucker who spent his nights shouting CB codes into his radio, and a middle-aged man who rented the room next door for his extramarital affairs. It was a colorful cast of characters, to say the least.

Disinfecting the Past

After setting up the bed, Kenny and I parted ways, and I picked up my girlfriend. She insisted we stop for some Lysol disinfectant on the way back, and we gave the bed a thorough spraying. It was a necessary evil, and I was grateful for her diligence. As we settled in for the night, I couldn’t help but think that this bed, despite its questionable past, was going to be my new haven.

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