School for Orphans

Wednesday, I slouched my way toward a new temp agency to take some skills assessment tests. My black jacket still bearing the telltale signs of an accident I suffered whilst taking a taxi home one recent, drunken evening. (That was one unhappy cabbie.)

Turns out this temp agency is run by the same guys who ran the temp agency that originally landed me at Bear Stearns. I didn't recognize the guy running the office but he apparently remembered me (or at least my name). Super-friendly guy. The skills assessment tests were what they were; got most of it done, with a few details buggered.

When I finished up, I chatted with the guy for a bit about "the state of the industry". He was realistic but hopeful. As I left, he said, "Welcome back to the family!"

And he could not have said anything more depressing to me...

From there, I walked about 30 blocks (precious MetroCard) to my near-future apartment to take measurements...

Here's the thing, bros and ghouls: the Fortress of Solitude 2.0 is a small space.

The new space is significantly SMALLER. Significantly DIRTIER. And reeks of CAT URINE. (There is a phantom cat that I still haven't actually seen.)

I'm moving on down, at every level.

I'll have to be pretty fucking crafty to have any hope of luring a girl to this new place. It pretty much screams NO GIRLS ALLOWED. It's a veritable crime scene, is what it is.

I've already been getting rid of things but it turns out I'll have to get rid of even more stuff. There are so many things I just can't take.

In a way, it's liberating to get rid of things. I could use less baggage. (In so many ways.) I should be more horrified but my goal is to move in as lightly as possible. I've got no choice but to lighten my burdens. Which SHOULD make moving out of there eventually a lot easier. Easier than moving in there, at least.

If anyone needs some free folding chairs, holler at me.