…The mold on the living room wall of Apartment 4B was shaped vaguely like the state of Florida, if Florida were fuzzy, black, and smelled like wet cardboard. From the sagging plaster ceiling, a steady plop… plop… plop echoed through the room, perfectly timing itself to land in a dented plastic bucket sitting dead-center on the linoleum floor. This was home. A rundown, shabby excuse for an apartment buried deep in the chaotic, smog-choked heart of the big city.
Larry paced the floor, carefully stepping over a colony of suspicious-looking mushrooms sprouting near the baseboards. He turned to the other two occupants of the room with a look of profound irritation.
“Which one of you boys is going to get a job so we can pay the rent?” Larry demanded, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want to sleep in a dumpster, you know.”
Barry, who was comfortably stretched out on a sagging sofa that was missing three cushions, didn’t even look up from his comic book. “Well, technically, Boss, Garry is the one that has to work. Because I just supervise. I’m good at that.”
Garry, sitting on the floor and intensely trying to balance a half-eaten cracker on his knee, looked up with wide, innocent eyes. “But I’ve never had a job. And I don’t want one.”
“Wow,” Larry snorted, throwing his hands in the air. “Would you rather sleep in a dumpster filled with cat litter?”
Garry pondered this for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Well… it would probably be better than working for some sleazeball. Do I have to sleep in the same dumpster that we put our cat litter in?”
“Technically, we don’t own a cat,” Barry pointed out.
“How about the one that chases away the pigeons I feed at the window?” Garry asked.
Larry froze, his eyes narrowing. “Since when are you feeding pigeons from the window? Is that why my pizza keeps going missing?”
“Well, no,” Barry interjected smoothly. “Technically, that’s because I steal it while you’re sleeping.”
Garry nodded sagely, eager to contribute. “Yeah, and I help by eating the crusts out of the trash so the evidence disappears! Except for the ones I gave to the pigeons. But they didn’t like the pepperoni, Larry. They said it gave them heartburn.”
Larry opened his mouth to scream, but before a sound could escape his throat, a thunderous boom rattled the flimsy front door. The bucket in the middle of the room sloshed.
“Open up! Rent! Now!” a voice bellowed from the hallway.
Larry groaned, adjusting his shirt as he dragged his feet to the door and unlocked it. Standing on the threshold was their slumlord. To say the man was dressed well was an understatement. He was wearing a pristine, tailored white suit that belonged on a yacht, but the real marvel was his accessories. The man was wearing more gold chains, iced-out medallions, and diamond rings than Rick Ross, Kanye West, and Lil Jon combined. He jingled like a walking treasure chest with every breath he took, vivid proof that every cent of his tenants’ rent went straight into high-end luxuries instead of building repairs.
The landlord sneered, looking down his nose at the trio. “You idiots got any money for me?”
“That depends,” Larry replied, leaning against the doorframe with forced confidence. “Do you have any repairs for us? I make coffee from the dripping ceiling every morning.”
“Well, technically, Boss,” Barry called out from the couch, “that’s because they shut off our water because we didn’t pay the bill!”
Garry blinked, genuinely confused. “Who is the Bill? And why is he shutting off our water? Is he mad at us?”
Larry whipped his head around. “Garry, just shut up for once, okay?”
The landlord’s eyes widened, his massive gold medallions clinking together as he stepped into the apartment. “They shut off your water? How do you boys shower, do dishes, and cook? I see your lights are still on!”
“That’s because Larry tapped into the neighbor’s power supply!” Garry blurted out happily, proud to know the answer. “Although it almost killed him! His hair stayed pointy for three whole days!”
Larry’s soul left his body for a brief second. “This is getting shittier by the moment…”
The landlord’s face turned a dangerous shade of crimson. “You did what? You’re stealing power from the neighbor’s apartment now? That’s the last straw! You morons are out tonight. In fact, start packing while I’m standing here!”
Garry smiled brightly and scrambled to his feet. “Are you going to help us pack? I have a lot of junk! Most of it is shiny rocks!”
Larry turned to Garry, his voice dripping with deadly calm. “Garry? Why don’t you see if you can fly like those pigeons you feed? All you got to do is launch yourself off the window ledge.”
Garry gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Do you think that would be safe? Do you really think I can fly, Larry?”
Barry finally stood up from the couch, adopting his best legal posture. “Technically, you can’t kick us out. We have nowhere to go. We have no money!”
The landlord flashed a diamond-encrusted grin. “Technically, I’m kicking you out because you have no money. Move it!”
The door slammed shut behind the landlord as he walked out to wait in the hall, leaving the three idiots in silence.
“Now what are we going to do?” Larry groaned, glaring at Garry. “Thanks a lot, Garry, big mouth!”
“Well, technically,” Barry said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “since we are not going to pay this landlord, let’s use all the money we have saved up in our mattresses and buy a house out in Loogan’s Bluff!”
Larry blinked. “Loogan’s Bluff? Where the hell is that? And since when do we have money in our mattresses?”
“I saved it from the pizza budget,” Barry explained cheerfully. “Anyway, I know of a good deal there. I saw it advertised on Fox TV! They found the former owner dead after the neighbors smelled something awful emanating from the house. Oh, and some bodies he had buried in the basement! That’s why it’s going so cheap.”
“Yeah. Good idea,” Larry sighed, tossing a moldy throw pillow into a garbage bag. “At least it would be nice and private. And no landlord knocking on our door at 3:00 AM looking for money.”
An hour later, the trio was outside, completely packed. They piled into Larry’s rusty old pickup truck, a vehicle held together entirely by rust, prayer, and one incredibly stressed-out bungee cord. The truck bed was overflowing with an absolute mountain of junk that even a professional hoarder would look at and say, “Yeah, that’s trash.” It was a chaotic heap of broken lawn chairs, a collection of mismatched hubcaps, a mattress that looked like it had survived a war, and several boxes of Garry’s prized “shiny rocks.”
Larry twisted the key in the ignition. The engine let out a sound like a blender full of wrenches, coughed up a thick cloud of black smoke, and finally roared to life.
Just as Larry slammed the truck into drive and prepared to pull away from the curb, Garry gasped and slapped both hands against his cheeks.
“Wait!” Garry shrieked, half-climbing out the passenger window. “I forgot my pigeons!”
Barry, crammed into the middle seat with his knees pressed against the dashboard, didn’t even look up from his phone. “Technically, you need some medication, broh.”
Larry gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he stared straight ahead down the smoggy city street. “Don’t worry, Garry. The way you smell? They will probably follow us the whole trip.”
With a violent jerk that threatened to leave the entire exhaust system behind on the asphalt, the rusty truck zoomed off down the highway. The mountain of useless junk rattled ominously in the back, kicking off their grand journey toward the unsuspecting, soon-to-be-traumatized population of Loogan’s Bluff. May some God help the huge 632 population of other residents currently living in that town.
Carry on. Nothing else to see in this chapter…