Ah, PB. A magical, mystical land of hippies, gypsies, lawyers and junkies...and I ain't leaving, baby.

Sure, they've stolen my $600 mountain bike (while locked in a secured garage in a secured building) but what the hell. Another day I came home to find my patio BBQ grill "'Ol Blackie" gone-a-miss'n. Ah, them's the breaks, kid. I hadn't cleaned the greasy soot for a while...I wish them cancer.

A Tuesday morning not so long ago, a young gent, drunk, confused, convinced my spacious studio was in fact his apartment jiggled the key and banged like hell at the door until giving up - quitter! There's no quitting in PB only lack of effort and DT's - now let that be a lesson to you. He pissed in the hallway before rolling out to his truck parked in front of a fire hydrant, one tire on the sidewalk no less ( I ain't making this stuff up) - No, I'm still not leaving.

After all, I can't think of another city or neighborhood where the property management sends out a reminder newsflash to tenants explaining that the two young ladies, ah shall we say "showering together," after hours at the pool were violating property rules. No kidding? You dirty girls. Hell yes there was some kind of violation going on there. But daddy's girls don't deserve a lecture, they earned a month of free rent as I see it - you can't buy marketing like that.

Na, I ain't leaving.


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