October 16, 1996 ; Over The Edge 11

Desperate Pleas...
con't...from page 7

instantly and dashed onto the
street.

Steve rolled down his window as
I started the car. We were driving
off when he began scteaming at
the old) “man. “Hey,
fucker...there’s a problem with
the plumbing. Get in there and
fix it...” Steve laughed wildly.
He was leaning out the window,
almost within reach of the frantic
landlord.

He taunted him further.
“There’s a few roaches, too...are
you listening to me, you
sonofabitch...hey, my key won’t
fit in the lock...”

I grabbed Steve by the belt and
dragged him back into the car. He
was laughing so hard that I feared
that he might get sick.

I stepped on the gas and we
slid off down the road. I could
see the landlord in the rear-view
mirror. He stood in the middle of
the road shouting curses and

throwing rocks at us. But we
were gone.

“I think he was a little
upset.,” Steve said. “Maybe
we went too far..”

“Bullshit,” I said. “You can
never go too far with shitheads
like that. Besides, it was fun.”

“Yeah, but we really fucked
things up for him.”

“Listen,” I began. “When
you moved into that place,
you walked around with that
uy and pointed out all the

things that needed work. You
made a list. He said that he’d
fix everything. Anyway, what
happened after that? Nothing.
He didn’t do one fucking thing.
When the fuse box exploded, he
told you that it was your
fault...shit, Steve, things like
that are really dangerous. But
that bastard wouldn’t lift a
finger to fix anything.
Whatever that guy got in there
today, he deserved.”

Later that day, we sat in

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Steve’s new home and drank
heavily in celebration of our
righteousness. I presented him
with a Tenant Survival kit:
quick-fix plaster, twenty
finishing nails, a tin of epoxy
cement, a tube of liquid solder,
a tin of beef and liver cat food
and a Get Well card.

“Who’s the card for?”

“The landlord,” I said. “But
don’t write down your return
address.”