Ho-Bag Is Gone

It's been quiet on the home front. Too quiet. I haven't heard screaming through my cardboard-thin apartment walls, nor have I seen dirty underwear strewn across my lawn. In fact, I haven't seen Ho-Bag's car in weeks. Yes friends, I'm afraid my favorite neighbor has finally departed. I shall miss her 3 a.m. drunken phone calls beneath my window as much as I will miss the emptying of her car's ashtray next to my front steps.

But lest you think my home life will now be uneventful, I submit to you this photo. Roofers have been patching up our home for the past two weeks. Every night I come home from work, a different piece of trash is in my driveway. Friday night I came home to this. It is obviously two human skeletons; ones you might find in Mr. Brightly's AP Bio class my senior year in high school. But what, pray tell, is it doing in my driveway? I couldn't tell you. In fact, I'd much rather not know why my landlord might have something like this stashed away in his attic.

But I will say that the disappearance of Ho-Bag and the timely surfacing of these photos could be the key to my rent never rising.