The Rotting Strip

A few weeks back, ‘Kitten’ noticed a prevalent gas smell in my apartment. I checked the stove, and the heater. All were turned off. Not having a sense of smell I soon forgot about this strangeness.
Three days ago, when passing the apartment adjacent mine (we have a common wall dividing our kitchen and bathroom) there was a large black sticker covering the doorframe.
“Placed by the Chief Health Inspector of San Francisco. The removal of this device is a felony.” The signature of the C.H.I. and a few other blokes were scribbled a crossed.

I have discerned the following from the maintenance fellow:

The thirty-year-old Asian man living next door,who sported the Prada shoes and the Burberry ties had died. Rent had not been paid. After trying to contact him multiple times the landlord called the police to break the door down. There he was. In the apartment. Crack pipes littering the floor around what was left of him.

I say ‘what was left of him’ as I found out just today that he had not died two weeks ago, as previously though, but two months ago. You know, about ten feet from where I sleep, eat, and shower.

Pleasant dreams!

Since last session:

• Drinks: 6, wine mostly
  
• Read: South of the Border, West of the Sun By Hurakai Murakami: hhhh Not as epic as Wind-up bird, but very endearing and pleasant to read. A simple tail of true love and how it destroys you.
• Watched: Funny Face: hhh The only time Hepburn and Astaire were together on screen. If that is your kind of thing, you will love it.
• Listened to: Portastatic, Autumn was a lark. hh A bit of a let down. Not nearly as enticing as Summer of the Shark.
  
• Cockney Slang of the day: Lemon Curd=Turd