That Wasn't Enough Luck You Wished!

Mr. Sunshine Flu must've taken one look at us and driven away. In fact, we think we saw him do it. He took off in his fucking Jaguar after walking away from us in the alley before he could even introduce himself. Just left. I guess we didn't look trashy enough.

His tenant looked like a heroin addict and had a dog named Jello. She wore a skimpy, black pleather outfit--stringy straps and miniskirt--and had a pair of handcuffs hung across her ass.

It's fine, really. That house looked like shit. If by "charmer" he meant "dump," I guess the ad would be accurate. We got the wrong address in our earlier drive-by--it was the second house in, not the corner. The huge, two-toned monstrosity with asbestos siding and a trash bin full of empty wine bottles. The back looked even worse: at least six cars in various states of disrepair littered the gravel parking area by a rickety-looking deck off the alley.

So we turned our attentions to Greenlake. Graylan approved of the $1500 place we'd sent him earlier--let's call it #4. It's a nice, old, brown house with a finished basement nested in a hilltop neighborhood five blocks from Green Lake Park and three from the freeway. It's hard to describe how truly lovely it was, especially for the price. We went up there and wandered around, astounded that such a place could honestly rent for so little. We had to make some calls to get the phone number for the place, and when we did... we learned it was already rented. Today was the first date of publication for the ad and it's already fucking rented. Drat.

We're left with no options. We planned an attack over Thai food, but the attack consisted of trying to find a place that would convince Graylan to stay with us and not join Anna's group at a five-bedroom place in Wallingford he already loves. There is ONE ad that fits our qualifications, in Greenlake. Chris tried to call already today and it just rang.

Sigh.